Blood on the Rocks: The First Hunger Games
by Daydream Believing
Summary: "The order has come," the pale man informs the room, "The Hunger Games has been commissioned." A united nation was a threat, and the Hunger Games would certainly put an end to that union.
1. Prologue

**The Capitol, three months after the surrender of the rebels.**

The group of Capitol high-ups continue to huddle around the table; many buildings in the Capitol were reduced to rubble during the war, and those that remained are often devoid of any heating or other basic amenities that many of the Capitol citizens see as necessities. The building the officials are gathered in was the headquarters of the government during the war, and therefore had a high level of protection, and is mostly still standing. However, they have still neglected to fix the heating, and the officials resent having to wait around all night in the freezing cold. But the orders came from the President himself and so, cold as they might be, no one dares to move from this room until the messenger arrives.

Finally, after many hours of silence, footsteps can be heard in the corridor outside. The harsh tapping of feet upon the metal floor injects life back into the Capitol officials; heads glance up in anticipation and small smiles begin to grow on faces. They can almost feel the warmth of their own homes. Soon, this long night will be over.

A man sweeps into the room; he is wearing tight fitting black clothes, a rarity for the Capitol citizens who, even during the war, kept up their tradition of wearing garishly decorated garments. But, this man doesn't look like one for wearing bright clothing. The angles of his face are harsh and cruel, and the dark bruises under his eyes suggest that he has far too many late nights recently.

He raises a thick eyebrow at the waiting officials, and slaps a thin black folder down against the table, making several people jump in surprise. One, a woman with fading lime green hair and purple lipstick lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Well?" A man with flaming red hair, who sits lounging in a corner, finally plucks up the courage to break the silence that had settled upon the room.

"The order has come," the pale man informs the room, "The Hunger Games has been commissioned."

...

Ok, so I've given in and decided to do a submit your own tribute story : ) Just because it looks like fun!

Here's the form:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

District:

Appearance:

Personality:

Family:

Friends:

History:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Fears:

Volunteered or Chosen? If they volunteer then please explain why.

Alliance?

Opinion on the Games:

Reaction at their Reaping?

Interview angle?

Reaping outfit:

Chariot outfit:

Interview outfit:

Anything else:

Ok, so remember that this is the first Games, so there's no such thing as a Career tribute yet! Of course, you can make a tribute who might have trained as part of the rebellion, I don't mind.

I'll probably take about 14 of your tributes, and then just make up some for the bloodbath.

And I need male tributes as well! I know how everyone seems to prefer making females.

Thanks :)


	2. Final Tribute List

**The Reaping draws closer...**

Those officials who had waited around during that long night, waiting for the orders to come from above, gradually became known as the Gamemakers. This was because they had complete control over the Hunger Games. During the months leading up to the Reaping they had lunch while discussing blueprints of possible arenas, they smoked while debating who would take control of the climate, and who would sit in front of the button that would release the muttations and they clinked glasses together as they chose the people who would become the mentors of the tributes.

They were given no boundaries by the President – there was nothing that they weren't allowed to do. The only orders had been to make the lives of the tributes as miserable as possible. As news about the Hunger Games spread throughout the Capitol, it sparked off blood lust and furious anticipation – the rebels had destroyed their home, and by punishing the children of those rebels they would have their revenge.

The date of the Reaping grew closer and closer – it was to be held on the one year anniversary of the rebels' surrender – and while the anticipation grew inside the Capitol, it was a different story throughout the Districts. Panic spread like wildfire, and as parents tucked their children in at night, they began to wonder if the rebellion had really been worth it. Those who had fought to stop the rebellion turned against those who had supported it. Suspicion grew between the Districts as the threat of direct competition drew near. The Capitol had achieved its aims – to separate neighbour from neighbour and encourage hatred amongst the population. A united nation was a threat, and the Hunger Games would certainly put an end to that union.

The President received reports of the discord within his population, and a smile twisted his lips as he stood surveying his ruined Capitol. If just the threat of the Games was enough to turn them against one another, he couldn't wait to see what would happen once the tributes were thrown into the arena, and forced to fight to the death.

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**FINAL TRIBUTES LIST. **The one's in bold are the ones that you have created, and one of them will win! The others are just bloodbath characters who I won't focus on at all.

1 -** F: Salima Yandas (17)** M: Rocco Flinn (15)

2 - **F: Samura Nightshade (15)** M: Zack Grimes (16)

3 -** F: Olive Pithy (15)** Jared Skale (12)

4 - **F: Sasha Darke (17) M: Aaron Vargas (17)**

5 -** F: Kelby Fuse (15**) M: Kale Mattlock (13)

6 - F: Cleo Frale (14) M: Samson Trake (15)

7 - **F: Ceylon Sapphire Touramline, aka Flint (17) **M: Dail Williams (15)**  
**

8 - F: Sita Rent (14) **M: Kye Willows (17) **

9 - **F: Lien Axford (13) M: Griffin Ashlock (16)**

10 - F: Niah Trove (14) **M: Misha Rolansky (17)**

11 - F: Chall Reath (12) **M: Yari Meadows (14)**

12 -** F: Rivka Locklier (15) M: Harrow Followill (18)**

**Thank you so much to everyone who submitted a tribute :)  
**


	3. The Reapings: Part One

**Ok, so I still need about two more tributes, but I decided to do the first batch of the Reapings. I'm not doing all the tributes' reapings, but all of your tributes will have two sections each before the Games start.**

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****Samura Nightshade, District 2**.

I wake up to the thumping of my own headache; my eyes blur as I try to scan to the room, and my mouth feels fuzzy, and dry. The room is littered with rubbish; like someone was chucking things around in a fit of rage. I don't remember who...

I push myself into an upright position and glance around me in confusion – the room has been completely destroyed. Cracked ornaments lie haphazardly upon the floor, food is spilled everywhere and there's a crack in the mirror. Why did I fall asleep in the living room, and who trashed it?

I press my palm against my forehead, feeling anxious that I don't remember what's happened here. This isn't like me. Why is it taking so long for me to remember what happened?

As I pull my hand away from my face, my eyes land on my knuckles. As I notice them a sharp pain lances through my body; they're raw and bloody. I glance back at the mirror.

_My reflection glares back at me; my blond hair and brown eyes remind me of her too much. Will I be haunted by her ghost every time I glance into a mirror? My fist pulls back of its own accord and smashes into the mirror. I watch as the blood rolls down my knuckles; I want it to hurt, but for some reason I can't feel the pain._

Why?

The memories come flooding back to me suddenly, and shockingly. Sounds and images that I never wanted to experience again start bouncing around in my brain.

_I'm walking into the town square with my mother, proud as always to see the peacekeeper uniform that covers her limbs. She wears it so proudly; her head held high, and daring the world to challenge her position of authority. She's the reason that I'd started training last year. I was desperate to become a peacekeeper myself, after seeing the way in which she handled the rebellion. _

I want to stop the memory there, before we arrive in town. Before we see the man being held against the wall.

_As soon as we spot the tall woman in the peacekeeper's uniform leaning menacingly towards the crumpled shape of a young man, my mum starts running. I know this man – he lost his mind during the rebellion, and whatever he had done, I know that he didn't do it in purpose. Unfortunately, I realise who the peacekeeper was before my mum does, and by then it's too late. She's already grabbing her arm, and yanking her away from the man._

_The Head Peacekeeper – Dahla Grimes. Notorious for always having an open mind when it comes to bribes, and a lethal hand when it comes to issuing punishment._

_Although I start running when I see her push my mother to her knees, I already know that it's too late. There's nothing I can do but watch her jerk her gun out from her belt, and I freeze as the gunshot resounds throughout the plaza._

_I can still remember falling to my own knees as my mother's body slumped forward onto the floor_.

I'm lying on the floor; I don't even remember how I made it back home last night. Falling to my knees is the last thing that I really remember. My jaw clenches as I think of Dahla, and the cold uncaring way in which she shot my mother in the head. My mum – the person who I was closest to in the whole world. I had always told her to watch out for Dahla – sure that I had seen hatred in her eyes whenever she looked at my mother, but she'd always told me that I was letting my suspicions get the better of me.

Something tells me that today is important. I'm sure of it, but I can't seem to clear the mist in my head that's obscuring my memories from me, except for those that I don't really want to remember.

I'm staring in the mirror, running a hand through my tangled blond hair before it finally clicks. Today is the Reaping, and I'm glad, because what's the point in this anymore? My mum's gone, as is my faith in the only profession that I'd ever really wanted.

A plan forms in my head as I step slowly towards the door, not bothering to change out of the wrinkled black top and trousers that I must have slept in last night. Because honestly, why should I bother?

I reach the town square, pushing my way through the crowd. I know that no one will be looking out for me; I don't tend to get along very well with the other kids my age, preferring to immerse myself in peacekeeper training than make pointless small talk. I guess I might be able to spot Han, a fellow peacekeeper-in-training, if I looked hard enough; I always respected his determination, but I have cast off my life's aspiration to become a peacekeeper, and anything else connected to it. So that means that I push Han from my mind, and concentrate on the Reaping.

I'm barely listening as the Mayor starts some drivel about the peace treaty and what the Games will mean. The theory of it means next to nothing to me, it's the practical that I plan to experience.

Finally, the man from the Capitol reveals his purpose on the stage as he wishes us good luck – I think I'm all out of that now anyway – and delves his hand into the glass ball.

As he pulls out a slip of paper, my eyes spot a shape by the stage – a silhouette that is all too familiar to me now. A figure that makes my jaw tighten and my fists clench. Dahla Grimes.

I don't even wait to hear the name that he reads out; I'm already lurching forward, letting my anger at the peacekeepers and the Capitol fuel my limbs and propel me forwards. People surge out of my way as I shove desperately at the crowd – I can't let this one chance for escape slip through my fingers. Not now, when it's so close.

"I volunteer," I scream out, willing them to hear me.

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

A sudden splash of water hits me in the face; I narrow my eyes, searching the glittering blue swell or the culprit. I try to suppress a laugh as I spot Hayden, grinning at me wickedly. If anyone else had splashed me I would probably be spitting mad by now, but I can't get angry with the boy who has been my neighbour for my whole life. I mean, we've grown up playing tag together, you can't argue with that kind of bond! I wring out my long black hair and splash him back.

My friends and I decided that we would go swimming the morning before the Reaping, really just to relax us because no one knows what we should be expecting this morning. Of course, going swimming was a bonus for me because it gave me the chance to show off in front of the others. I don't want to sound boastful, but I've been swimming since I was four years old and can easily beat all of my friends; my father is a very successful fisherman and he used to take me to work with him. My mother wasn't too thrilled, especially because she wanted a house full of children running around all the time that she could take care of. Unfortunately, she only ended up with me, and I preferred tagging along with my father.

"One more race," I demand as my friends begin to swim to the shore.

Hayden rolls his eyes in my direction, "We can't be late. You heard what the Mayor said...

..._there will be consequences," _we finish the sentence together, and I sigh, following my friends onto the beach.

I pull on a soft, clingy shirt on top of my swimming costume. We were told to look presentable for this, but no one is really that sure what this means. I don't have to make much effort anyway; my lips are red enough and my skin pale enough without make-up. We pad into the town square on bare feet – no one brings shoes to a beach...

I scan the crowd as we arrive, and I'm quite glad not to see my parents. My mum's sister, and my aunt, was a prominent leader in the rebellion, but she ended up getting killed in a raid just before the rebels were forced to surrender. My mum hasn't quite got over it yet, and to be honest, I have other things to worry about today. I can't afford to be comforting my mum while trying to work out what this Reaping is really all about.

I do spot a couple of girls from school though. Unlike me, they're pretty low down on the social scale; add to that the fact that they seem to like having frizzy hair and spots, and we're never going to get on. I make sure to barge them with my shoulder as me and my friends push to the front of the seventeen year olds section. We want a good view, after all.

I realise that I never wished Hayden good luck – girls and boys are separated before the Reaping starts, but the square is too crowded for me spot him. Anyway, he didn't wish me good luck either...

We wait, glancing at each other uncertainly, until the Mayor stands up, holding a piece of paper tightly between his hands. As he begins to read, my mind wanders. He's talking about the rebellion, and my mind flickers back to my aunt. I only met her a few times, after all, she was always so busy with the rebellion, but people who supported the rebellion still treat me like a hero, just because I had a famous aunt. Still, I'm not going to complain, a bit more attention never hurt anyone.

I roll my eyes at my friend, Reah as the speech continues and she smirks back at me. Finally, it comes to an end. I almost feel like groaning in relief. But then, some ridiculous looking Capitol woman, wearing what looks like a cat on top of her head, is walking across the stage towards the glass balls. I'm trying to act like I couldn't care less if I'm picked, but my stomach lurches with fear as her hand descends into the mass of paper slips lying at the bottom. After all, we've all been told what will happen if our name gets picked.

Up on the stage she's unfolding a piece of paper; for a second I almost hope that it's one of the frizzy haired girls who I barged into earlier, but as I hear the first syllable, I know I'm in trouble.

"Sasha Darke."

I try to wipe my face clear of any emotion, all the while shaking so hard that I'm worried my teeth are going to start chattering. I force myself to walk up to the stage on stiff legs. We were told that people could volunteer if they wanted to, so maybe I still have a hope of being saved from this.

Only silence answers when they call for volunteers.

The pink skinned Capitol escort then dips her hand into the other ball, and calls out a boy's name I've never heard before in my life, but there's an instantaneous shout.

"I volunteer!"

I stiffen as my eyes locate the blond haired, blue eyed muscle mass who is pushing his way through the crowd to get to the stage.

Aaron Vargas. Of course I know him, everyone in District 4 knows him. He became infamous during the rebellion for leading a squad of shoulders, who patrolled the District, lynching any rebels they could get their hands on. Of course he'd volunteer; he probably misses the excitement that comes hand in hand with such a position of power. And I'm in trouble, because my aunt was a leader of a force who he swore to kill.

Damn. I can't even appreciate how handsome he is. Something must be wrong.

**Kelby Fuse, District 5.**

I jerk awake suddenly to the sound of wailing. It's a loud and complaining yowl coming from the crib just underneath my window. I groan, pressing the pillow over my head to try and block out the noise – what a sound to wake up to! Anyway, Kelz never cries, perhaps he can sense the date...

The crying continues, and a smile breaks out across my face as I think of my beautiful son – his tuft of soft, fiery red hair and sparkling green eyes which so resemble my own. I was so relieved when he was born, and I look down into his face not finding a trace of his father anywhere within his features.

I push myself to me feet; ignoring the faint criss-cross pattern of scars which still covers my arms. I prefer to push the memory away, rather than dwelling on the past. Besides, I got my gorgeous little Kelz out of it. I lean over the crib and dangle his favourite toy – a small pink bear (I still maintain this is too girly for him, but my sister, Fern, insists that he loves the present she gave to him) – in front of his eyes, trying to distract him so that he'll stop crying.

"Who's a good little boy?" I coo, and his chubby little face breaks into a grin at the sound of my voice. He spoke his first word just three days ago – _Momma – _Fern was jealous, she wanted him to say her name first. My dad had teased me when Kelz had spoken for the first time; saying that he hoped that he wouldn't grow into as much of a talker as I am!

I reach down, and pull him into my arms, my body protesting slightly under his weight. It's a good thing that dad had me training during the rebellion, or I certainly wouldn't have the muscles to be able to hold Kelz up; he's putting on far too much weight!

As I wander downstairs, my eyes travel over the familiar blue walls of the hallway in my dad's house. Sometimes, when I come out of my room in the morning, I expect to arrive into a different, green hallway. My mom's house; but then I remember. She had kicked me out when I'd told that I was pregnant – jumping to conclusions as always and assuming that I had been stupid, and irresponsible to get pregnant at just 14. Of course, she'd invited me back into her house when she had found out the truth, but I wasn't ready to forgive her. Fern had even moved with me when she found out what had really happened. Sometimes I do feel guilty that mom ended up all alone – last I heard she had moved back in with her parents – but then I remember her judgemental eyes, boring into me, and I remember why I can't go home to her.

Kelz pulls softly at my hair, realising that I'm upset about something, and I let my face relax into a smile. It doesn't take much for Kelz to cheer me up.

I arrive in the kitchen and Fern automatically holds her hands out to take Kelz off me. I just poke my tongue out at her, and clutch him more tightly. She huffs, "you'll have to let him go when you eat breakfast."

"Maybe I won't have breakfast then," I say determinedly.

There's an unusual silence hovering over the table today; perhaps because it's the date of the first ever Reapings, and both Fern and I have a chance of being chosen. Normally it's me who breaks any kind of silence, but today I'm preoccupied with worrying about Kelz – he'll grow up and have the threat of the Reaping always hanging over him. It's not the kind of future that I want for my son.

I eventually give Kelz over to Fern, and dash upstairs to get changed. It doesn't take me long – I haven't really bothered making much effort with my appearance since Kelz was born. Besides, I learned the hard way that dressing provocatively is a bad idea.

My dad places Kelz in his pram – it was hard getting hold of this; after the end of the rebellion everything has been in short supply, and it's a tatty old thing. Sometimes I'm surprised it doesn't just fall apart when we put Kelz into it. I keep up an endless chatter as we stroll towards the square – the nerves jumping around my body make me jabber away even more than I usually do. It works though, because I think I even manage to cheer my dad up, and he's been looking sombre ever since I came down to breakfast.

But we turn a corner, and my comment about Kelz dies in my throat as my eyes fall on the small, one storey house at the end of this street.

I remember when the Peacekeepers came to the house and told us that he had been found, hanging from the tree in his back garden. All I had felt was malicious happiness that perhaps he had some remorse in him after all.

Kelz's father; not they ever actually got to meet. He had been my favourite teacher; always seemed so enthusiastic about the most mundane of subjects, and he was a kindred spirit – another motor mouth, just like me. One night I had stayed late at school, offering to help him out with a classroom display, when he had come at me. I don't think he was expecting the response he got; I had flown at him, biting and scratching, desperate to get away.

I touch the scars on my arms – he had fought back.

It wasn't until my stomach had started to grow that I had finally had to accept what really happened in that classroom one rainy afternoon.

I try not to meet the eyes of my family as we continue onwards to the square.

I find myself squashed in to a group of 15 year olds, most of who flinch away as they notice me. I try not to let myself care about their reaction, or about the strange stage with the glass balls. My arms miss the warm, comforting presence of Kelz, who is with my dad.

The Mayor drones on and on – I don't know why he's bothering really. District 5 didn't have to do with the rebellion, we just waited it out.

Then a spindly, insect look-a-like of a Capitol woman crosses the stage, and you can practically hear the crowd draw in a collective breath.

"Our female tribute is...

_Just get on with it._

... Kelby Fuse."

What? I swear I must be hearing things, because there is no way she just read my name off that piece of paper. But from the sympathetic looks that are being shot in my direction, I kknow it must be true.

As I reach the stage, I want to scan the crowd, to let my eyes linger on Kelz, and to find Fern and try and make her understand that she can't volunteer, that out of the two of us, I at least have some chance of returning, whereas she has none.

It turns out this was a wasted thought, because no one offers to take my place. I am going into the arena.


	4. The Reapings: Part Two

**Ok, I'm not going to lie, Flint was so hard to write. That's why her section is so long!**

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**Flint, District 7.**

I lean my forehead against the window, my eyes connecting the shapes of the clouds together and creating pictures in the sky.

I laugh as I spot a rabbit.

I tilt my head sideways and it becomes a turnip.

If I close my left eye I can see a flower.

I laugh again, and my finger traces the outline of the sun on the window pane. "Like a lemon drop," I whisper to myself, and I can almost taste it on my tongue.

My finger keeps trace the sun as I scan the district. My eyes fall upon the vast forest which stretches away, far into the distance, and I remember how my mother used to tell me stories about pixies and elves which danced around in forests just like one. There were none hidden away in ours though; I'd looked.

A smile stretches my face as I think of my mother; my head resting on her lap as she told me a bedtime story, and stroked my hair. I can remember everything about her, right down to the way her flowery perfume used to smell, but it's strange; my father's face has become a blur to me. If I try, I can fill in the gaps, but I always end up giving him three purple eyes, freckles spelling out his name, "Quartz," across his forehead, and fangs.

I giggle as this picture fills my head.

It's no wonder I don't remember him exactly right. He never spent any time with me. I see him more in my dreams now, than I did in reality when he was alive.

"FLINT!" A voice makes me startle; she must have been calling me for a while or she most likely wouldn't be so angry.

I ignore her, and examine the shape of a cow that has just appeared amongst the clouds.

"Flint, stop daydreaming," someone speaks from behind me in an amused tone, completely distracting me from my musings about flying cows.

I turn round, and see an olive-skinned, dark haired boy leaning against my doorframe. Garnet. He smiles brightly at me as my eyes meet his, "What were you thinking about this time?" His voice his light, and teasing – he never takes me seriously, and it hurts sometimes. But it's easier to find shapes amongst the clouds than dwell on this for too long. I scrutinise his appearance for a moment, other than the difference in our eye colour – mine are bright blue, while his are a muddy brown – we practically look like we're related. But sometimes, just sometimes, when he smiles at me, it doesn't feel like he's smiling at his sister.

The silence stretches out, and he starts to look confused, "Flying cows," I tell him brightly, "I was thinking that if we had enough flying cows then we could just escape, and then we wouldn't have to worry about these Reapings."

His face darkens slightly at this reminder, but then he smiles, "Oh, and where would we escape to?"

He's talking to me like I'm a little child again. "The moon." _Why not? _Living on the moon has got to be a hell of a lot easier than living here.

"Breakfast was ready about an hour ago. You know we have to be down in the square by lunchtime."

Then he's gone, and I'm left remembering my mother's tales about how the moon was made from cheese. This makes my mouth water, and I hope there'll be cheese for breakfast; I bound down the stairs to find out.

I screech to a halt as I see Opal leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed on top of her plump stomach. Uh oh, this must be really bad, because she never gets mad about anything. She pushes her dark, tightly curled hair out of her eyes so she can glare at me better. Her hair distracts me though, because I remember the machinery we learned about in school when I was little; they had springs in them which curl just like her hair does.

"Flint!" She snaps sharply, bringing my mind back into focus as only she can. "There's no time for breakfast now," my almost permanent smile falters, and slides off my face, "just get ready."

My jaw clenches, and I dart back upstairs; a scream threatening to erupt from within me as I remember anger.

_I'm eight, and asking why people are standing around the house, holding signs and chanting angrily. We can't leave the house – mummy said it wasn't safe. Apparently, father has treated these men badly._

_I think we're safe in our mansion. Nothing can get us here._

_Flames are licking their way up the side of the building. Mummy and father tell me they're not scared, that we'll all be fine, but I know they're lying. Father's voice has the strange high pitched tone that it only takes on when he's angry or threatened._

_Why did they save me and then abandon me? The men with the signs pulled me out of the house, but they bolted the door before mummy and father could get out too. They yelled at me, and laughed as the house crackled and creaked behind me. They run away, leaving me behind and I watch as my house burns. The screams echoing through the square._

_The forest; full of pixies and elves. The forest would be my new home. _

A scream tears out of my throat; I'm lying face down on my bed, pressing my face against my pillow, but no matter how hard I press it can't stop the sobs from erupting out of me as I imagine the flames.

I vaguely hear footsteps; someone dashing up the stairs I think, but there's a screen that's stopping me from processing this properly.

Who's coming? Maybe it's one of the bad men.

"Flint?" I feel hands on my back, pulling my stiff body onto her lap. Opal; the woman who rescued me from the forest. The only one who took pity on me while the rest of the District turned their backs, and laughed at the Touramaline's fall from grace.

"You're safe now, remember. Remember." Her gentle voice makes me remember.

I open my eyes, and meet hers, "You saved me from the forest?" _Even though my father was a bad man, _I think, _even though he forced his workers to labour for too long and for too little, and led them to strikes and riots._

"_We _rescued you from the forest," she reminds me.

Garnet.

He's watching me from the doorway again, but there's no smile on his face this time. "You haven't done this for a little while?" His voice is shaky, and uncertain. He's right though; it's been over a year since the memories came to me in anything but a nightmare. Maybe the Reaping set me off. I'm not sure. Opal brushes a tear from my cheek, strange, I hadn't realised I was crying.

They leave me alone and I get dressed.

Once I'm ready I descend downstairs, avoiding their eyes as I feel them watching me.

"You ok?" Garnet links his arm through mine as he asks me this, despite the fact he's so much taller than I am.

"Fine."

"What were you saying about those flying cows earlier?"

As we reach the square I feel the angry looks of the others upon my face, but I just laugh and brush them off.

There are separate areas for males and females, and I turn to Garnet to wish him luck. "May the odds be ever in your favour," – it's some ridiculous new Capitol slogan they've been using to promote the 'Hunger Games.' I put on my best imitation of a Capitol accent, and he smiles reluctantly at me.

"And in yours."

I dance off towards the 17 year olds' section, and wait restlessly at the back. I stare up at the sky to distract myself.

A train.

No, that's no good – it's too similar to the one they take the tributes to the Capitol on.

A squirrel; that's better.

Suddenly I become aware of a deathly silence around me, and I twist head around, trying to understand what's going on. People are looking at me; one, a girl with curly brown hair smirks at me, "You just got reaped, idiot," she says derisively, and I look at her in confusion.

Reaped?

"Ceylon Touramaline?"

_But that's not..._

I walk slowly up onto the stage, planting a smile firmly onto my face. As I reach the stage I yank the microphone out of the Capitol escort's fingers, "It's Flint," I say loudly, my voice projecting over the confused heads of the District 7 citizens, "Not Ceylon." I hand the microphone back over.

"Well," he obviously has no idea what I'm talking about, "let's give it up for Flint."

I take a bow while the audience remain silent. No one wants to cheer for the daughter of Quartz Touramaline.

**Griffin Ashlock, District 9**.

There's a knock at my door; a jaunty rhythmic tapping that seems to go on... and on... and-

"Moira! Can you please shut up for one second?" One of the downsides of spending every moment with your twin sister is that she comes to know how to press your buttons extremely well.

"Hurry up then," she says brightly, "You know we have to go hunting before the Reaping today."

The Reaping, right...

I wrench the door open and find her grinning brightly at me, "I thought we were supposed to make an effort for the Reaping," I say lightly, ruffling her hair.

She jerks away from me, "Idiot," she retorts, flicking me on the cheek. She grins at me mischievously, her green eyes, which are so like mine, sparkling in amusement. I don't like it when she gets that look on her face; it usually means I'm going to end up in trouble.

I run a hand through my dark hair, messing it up some more, and follow Moira downstairs. Mum is sitting at the breakfast table, her eyes glazed over as she stares out of the window. I don't remember the last time I actually felt like she was present in the room. Her skin looks pale and waxy, and I exchange a glance with Moira – she's obviously been waiting up all night for dad to return home; he went off with a hunting party early yesterday morning.

"So mum," I say brightly, trying to diffuse the uncomfortable silence in the room, "what would you like for breakfast?"

No answer. Of course not.

Moira starts clinking chipped glasses together as the silence stretches on, and I grimace. My appetite gone – normally, I hate the fact that I'm forced to go out hunting just so that my family had enough to eat, forced to kill defenceless animals for food, but today it will actually be a relief to escape into the woods for a couple of hours. I realise Moira is watching my expression with an anxious look on my face, so I quickly lift my lips up into a smile. Sometimes I don't even want Moira to know how I'm really feeling; it's just easier to make a joke.

"Could you make any more noise if you tried?" I ask her in amusement.

"Yes," she snaps bitterly, and she holds out a glass in front of her. I realise what she's about to do a split second before she actually does it, and there's a resounding smash as the glass hits the floor. We both twist our heads round to see if mum reacts. Her eyes flicker slowly over to the shards of glass now covering the floor, but then they snap back to the window. Moira sighs.

I shrug, "Weren't you the one telling _me _to hurry up? Now, shift."

We grab our hunting supplies from the porch, and I sling a backpack over my shoulders as we head through our village. It's just a small huddle of houses at the edge of District 9. We're quite isolated over here, too far away from the main bulk of the District to ask for help when we're in trouble. But it was actually quite useful during the rebellion; we stayed hidden while the rest of District 9 was almost completely destroyed.

I breathe in the deep, earthy smell of wood smoke; the village fire is crackling away quietly, and a couple of older women are sitting cross legged on the logs beside it, weaving baskets.

We enter the woods, but neither of us are really in the mood for hunting today, especially not after how mum was acting this morning.

Moira does her usual comparing me to the forest routine, "Look, if you stand still you could easily blend in." I roll my eyes; apparently my well tanned skin and green shirt somehow resemble a tree. "You're almost the height of that one," she tells me, pointing to a small sapling.

I laugh at her, and trudge across the thick carpet of leaves to reach the tree, and then I stand beside it and stretch my arms out.

"Maybe a bird will land on me."

She dances over to me, so much lighter on her feet than I am, and wraps her arms around me. I drop mine, and envelope her in them. No matter how much we try and joke, and push our fear aside, we can never hide it from each other. The threat of the Reaping hangs over us like a dark rain cloud, as does our parents fractured relationship.

I pull myself away from her, hating to feel weak, even in front of my sister. "Come on, this isn't helping us catch dinner."

I can't concentrate though, unlike normal, my feet seem to be finding every single twig, and Moira keeps shooting me impatient glances.

Eventually she erupts, "Do you have to be so clumsy? It's like you're doing it deliberately," she yells.

I bristle in indignation, if there's one thing that I cannot stand it's criticism, especially not from such a hypocrite, "Now whose scaring away all the game?" I snap back at her. Ugh, why am I so on edge today?

"Besides," I tease softly, "we both know how ungainly you are. Remember the last time you tried to dance?" I do an imitation of her tottering around, and she glowers at me, then shoves me hard in the chest.

"Can't you ever be serious? Just for one second."

"Nope," I tell her, popping my lips on the "p" and turning away from her.

I hear her huff from behind me, "I'm going home. I can't hunt with such an idiot."

I know that I should go after her, but I can't do it. Today just feels so wrong, and strange.

Though I spend the rest of the morning hunting I catch absolutely nothing; I know my family won't be very impressed, but maybe dad will have caught enough so that we can actually keep something for ourselves, rather than having to send everything to the Capitol as usual. The thought of them sends a surge of anger rushing through my body - a feeling that I am completely unaccustomed to. I can't believe that we've spent our whole lives slaving away, hoping that maybe something will get better, and now they introduce the Hunger Games. No one in our village even participated in the rebellion – in this second I hate the rebels almost as much as I do the Capitol; they should have known that nothing good could ever come out of a rebellion. The Capitol is too powerful and other Districts so indoctrinated into believing their lies, it was never going to have been successful.

It's not until a spot the sun floating high above me that I realise how late it's getting. "Moira's right," I mutter to myself, "you really are an idiot."

I have run all the way to the town square, I'm that late, and I arrive feeling completely out of breath. As I scan the crowd I spot Moira standing by herself, looking awkward and uncomfortable amongst the throng of people. I notice signs indicating that males and females should be standing separately, and I'm supposed to make my way over to an area dedicated to sixteen year old boys. But no one really seems to be obeying, and I certainly don't plan to.

I dart over to Moira, and jab her in the ribs, making her jump. "Idiot," she says once again, but there's a sad smile on her face as she clutches at my hand desperately. I squeeze hers back, hoping desperately that we'll be both be saved from this. "You missed the speech," she tells me, shaking her head in annoyance.

"Oh, was it any good?" I ask with a grin, and she just rolls her eyes at me.

We watch as the Capitol man starts to unfold the piece of paper with a girl's name scrawled across it. My heart lurches with fear and I squeeze Moira's hand. _Don't let it be her._

"Lien Axford," he declares in a ringing voice

A groan escapes from the crowd as we watch a small girl begin to ascend the stairs on the stage.

She looks like a fragile little thing; wavy red hair obscures her eyes, and her ribs stand out under her grey dress. I can't believe this young girl will be forced to either fight or die.

I'm so preoccupied with worrying about Lien that I don't notice the man pulling a name out of the other glass ball.

"Griffin Ashlock."

What?

Moira's hand clenches mine so tightly.

"You're breaking my hand," I say lightly.

"No, Griff," she whispers, her hand refusing to let go of mine. "You can't-"

"It's fine," I tell her as I finally prise my hand free from her iron grip, "I won the lottery, right?"

Once I'm on the stage, I'm told to shake hands with Lien. I want to reassure her somehow, let her know that everything's going to be alright.

But I'm shocked as I look into her eyes. Underneath that innocent little face she doesn't seem scared at all.

Only determined.


	5. The Reapings: Part Three

I'm on a roll - three updates in three days! I hope this makes up for the fact that I won't be able to update for a couple of days. :)

This is the last lots of Reapings, so it'll be the train rides next.

**Misha Rolansky, District 10**.

My stomach feels hollow, as it's always done since the Rebellion. I explore the cupboards in the kitchen – nothing.

If I close my eyes, and concentrate hard enough, I can remember what being full used to feel like. I can smell baking bread, and rice, and beef, and...

_Don't start drooling._

I glance around the bare kitchen; wallpaper peeling off the walls, and only one chair propped up against the table. After all, I have no use for any others now, and I had needed firewood. I guess I could go out and hunt for something to eat, just as I had been forced to do during the rebellion, but I don't really have the energy. Or the time before the Reaping starts.

I sigh as my eyes catch sight of the barren fields out of the window; the pigs and cows had all been burned during the rebellion. If only the farm was like it had once been; it would have been easy for me to go outside, pick any animal I thought looked tasty, and dispose of it quickly. Hunting is no guarantee that I'll actually be able to find anything.

I move through the house, padding silently on my bare feet. I can't stand the sound people make when they wear shoes. Don't they realise that it's impossible to sneak around in thick soled boots? It had never bothered me before the rebellion, but then I had been forced to hide, and hunt, and I'd realised how inconvenient shoes could be.

This space, that once held so many happy memories for me, seems so cold and indifferent to me now. It certainly doesn't seem like my home now that everyone else has disappeared from within its walls.

My father; shot dead in a battle in some faraway district. I can still remember my mother's face when she got the letter. Just a small tightening of her lips told me instantly what had happened. Dad, dead and never coming back. Dead for some cause that didn't seem worth it once you had lost someone to it. Everyone had always told me how brave he had been, and what a magnificent leader he had been for his troops. I didn't care about anything of this.

My mother; tongue ripped out and sentenced to a lifetime of serving the pretentious peacocks of the Capitol. Avox forever. Once they found out that she'd played a role in the rebellion, helping and supporting my father that was it for her. I remember as the peacekeeper arrived at the farm. The way he mimed what was going to happen to her.

I can feel my anger building, the way it always does when I think of her. Blood boiling, muscles tightening, jaws clenching...

_Lena, _I remind myself, _think of Lena. _A five year old, chubby little bundle of happiness. Always smiling, and laughing.

_She's skipping around the garden, chattering away in excitable tones._

_They're knocking at the door._

_They're taking her away._

There's a loud crunch that brings me back to my senses, and a dull pain in my fist that makes me look down. I've cracked the plaster on the wall, again.

Shit, mom's going to go spare.

Then I remember.

"What does it matter?" I yell pointlessly into the empty air within my house, "What the hell does it matter if I destroy every damn thing in this house? No one's ever coming back."

I pick up the lone chair, and smash it down onto the ground, feeling a perverse kind of pleasure as it splinters. I smash it down again, and again.

I remember dad making these chairs. But what does he care? He left me alone, just like everyone else.

_Even Lena left you in the end,_ a vicious voice inside my head reminds.

She didn't choose to. I'm trying to be rational; the orphanage took her away. Not my fault.

_Because you couldn't look after her. Mom made you promise that you'd keep her safe, and you couldn't even do that. Now she's in some damp, run-down orphanage..._

I shake my head in desperate denial. I had tried my best, but no 17 year old boy can be a substitute father for his little sister. There wasn't enough food, and Lena kept crying all the time. I'd yelled for mom in my sleep, but no one ever came to help me.

I kick the table leg in frustration, ignoring the resounding thud within my muscles as the table resists.

_Can't even win a fight against a table. What a loser._

"I can beat a fucking table," I gasp out, lurching blindly for it. Standing there so stable, like it's mocking me.

I hit it with the flat of my palms, but although it wobbles, it doesn't fall down.

I shove it again, toppling it this time, and I snap off the legs, flinging them against the walls.

...

I have the last one in my grasp when I realise what I'm doing. I drop the leg and it rolls onto the floor with a soft clunk.

I look round in confusion at the room. The table top lies splintered in the corner of the room, the table legs lying at various positions around the room. The glass of the window is smashed, and shards lie on the floor.

This shouldn't keep happening. I destroyed my parents' room two weeks ago; pulled the wardrobe apart with my bare hands. A shudder runs through my body, and bile rises in my throat.

I retch onto the floor; no food in my stomach to actually throw up, and drop to my knees. Why can't I control this part of me?

It's just... I think of Lena, and then that voice starts mocking me. And I have to prove it to myself that I was strong enough to take care of her.

In this moment I'm glad they took her away from me, because I couldn't bear it if she saw me like this. Like a beast who can't control his own emotions.

I push myself to my feet, aware that the Reaping will be starting soon. I force myself to forget about this outburst; deal with it once I've got through today. Maybe if I work hard, and keep this insane anger under control, then I can prove that I'm good enough to have her back.

I wander down to the main square, and it's not until I begin to process people's dirty looks, aimed at my clothing, that I glance down to see what I'm wearing.

A muddy brown t-shirt, and stained jeans. Lovely.

And no shoes of course.

I shrug to myself. It hardly matters what I'm wearing, surely.

I suddenly spot the uniform of the orphanage some way off to my left, and I stare at the group of sombre looking children, gathered behind a matronly looking woman. I can't spot her soft blonde head anywhere amongst the crowd though.

"Niah Trove," someone suddenly announces up on the stage, and I whip my head around. The crowd watches as a pale girl walks to the stage; her legs are shaking and even from this distance I can tell that her eyes are filled with tears.

They finally begin to fall as she reaches the stage.

"Ok, so now for the male tribute."

It seems that everyone in the crowd is holding their breath as the man selects a name from the reaping ball.

"Misha Rolansky."

It hadn't even occurred to me to get worried about it. I've been so detached from the real world recently.

My legs lock into place, and refuse to move. I know everyone is watching me, and I'm supposed to look brave and impressive, but I can't.

_Lena_

A smirk suddenly blooms on my face and I push my way through the crowd with my head held high.

_If I win, no one can stop me taking Lena back._

**Yari Meadows, District 11.**

I smirk at Matty as we creep along the corridor towards our parents' room. Not paying attention, as usual, Matty steps on a yellow, mangy teddy bear that lets out a resounding squeak under the pressure of his foot. I bat him on the arm; little brothers are so useless, and we both glance anxiously in our parents' direction. I smirk as we don't even hear a single sound of movement.

I clutch my hands tighter around the vial in my fingers. This is going to be classic. I can't wait.

We reach the door, and Matty slowly pushes it open. I nod at him. It took me ages to convince him to agree to do this; he's such a worrier sometimes.

3...

2...

1...

_This is it._

I fling the vial into the bedroom, hearing it crack open on the floor, and Matty and I pelt it back along the corridor.

Mission Stink Bomb complete – I hope it's as successful as Kean said it would be.

Our parents are creating quite a ruckus. Even the faint whiff of the ghastly odour in my nostrils is worth it for this.

My dad's out of the door first; he takes one look at Matty and I waiting at the other end of the hallway, and he bursts out laughing.

Ahh well, he wasn't my real target anyway.

We brace ourselves for the usual barrage of insults as mum comes bolting out of the bedroom.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" She shrieks in our direction, "I could _kill _the pair of you. We were supposed to get a lie in today because of the Reaping."

The Reaping... who cares? The Capitol is so predictably boring. Hunger Games – yawn.

I grin brightly at her, "Well, think of what a productive day you'll have now that you're wide awake."

Her face distorts into a mask of fury, and I sense a punishment coming on.

"You're grounded for a month."

A month? That's completely unreasonable. She only grounded me for three weeks when I booby trapped her bedroom door to upend a bucket of water onto her head, and that's much worse.

She runs a hand through her hair, and glares at me triumphantly; this is an absolute joke. I can't stay inside for a whole month – I'll go insane. Hmph, well I'll just have to booby trap everything in her world until she lets me go outside; there's no way she'll be able to put up with me for a whole month. She doesn't have that kind of stamina. She pushes past us, and stomps downstairs, leaving me grinning at her back. I think our stink bomb had the desired effect.

Dad shakes his head at us, but I can see his eyes twinkling with amusement, "What have I told you about picking your victims? Your mother's never going to see the funny side of that."

_That's the point. _

I head back to my bedroom to get dressed, and glare at my reflection.

With my stupidly defined cheekbones, and short height, it's no wonder I often get mistake for being a girl. I jab at my reflection – damn it, I'm fourteen. I thought my face would have grown up a bit by now, but it still seems to be stuck at ten years old.

Great, so I look like a ten year old girl.

I jab my face again, willing it to suddenly transform into that of a well muscled man.

No such luck. Is it any wonder that I make mum suffer through so many of my pranks when she gave me a face like this? Does she have any idea how difficult it is to be taken seriously when you look like I do?

Eight year old Matty looks more masculine than I do.

Mum's various lectures come back to me, "_Maybe your face will mature a bit when your attitude does."_

Nah, it's totally not worth it. I smirk at myself and my face twists evilly; I never did get mum back for that comment.

I head downstairs, planning the prank to end all pranks as I do. Dad's sitting at the kitchen table, entertaining Matty with his prosthetic hand. He lost it during some battle in the rebellion, and he was one of the few who managed to get a fake one to replace it with. His game with Matty is simple; he holds out his hand, Matty shakes it, and it falls off.

It's such a wasted opportunity; dad could wreak so much havoc with that hand. He never lets me borrow it either – which is so unfair; it could be so much fun.

Mum's watching them with narrowed eyes.

No one's ever allowed to have fun in this house.

"I'm meeting Harry and Kean in town," _to give them a full report on Mission Stink Bomb, _I say brightly, and turn to go out of the door.

"Wait!" I come to a dead stop, you don't mess with mum when she sounds like that, "you're grounded. Remember?"

Ugh, I forgot about that one.

"But it's Reaping day," I say sadly, making sure to droop my head so that I look extra depressed, "and what if Harry or Kean get reaped? I'll have wasted my last day with them."

I raise my head, and find that she's actually looking quite upset. Oh, this is too good; don't tell me she's actually going to buy the whole depressed puppy dog routine? She's usually far too smart for this to get her.

"Fine," she says, "and wish them luck from me."

Why is everyone so down in the dumps about this Reaping?

I dart joyfully into town, revelling in the freedom which will soon be taken from me. I spot my two mates leaning against the chipped fountain in the town square and my face widens into a grin.

"You're late," Kean tells me, and I just smirk.

"Yeah, well I was busy," I waggle my eyebrows to keep them in suspense.

"How'd it go?"

"Like a dream. Of course. On the downside, I'm grounded for the next month."

They burst out laughing; neither of their parents are as strict as my mum. She's an absolute nightmare.

"You know what you should do?" Harry says, "volunteer for the Games today. Then you wouldn't have to complete your punishment."

Kean rolls his eyes, "Yeah, because you'd most likely end up dead."

I glare upwards at him; he thinks I'm a weakling just because I'm short? "You don't reckon I could take the other tributes?"

He senses a challenge, "No, I don't actually."

You're asking for this, "What if I volunteer?"

"C'mon," Harry says, "even you're not quite that stupid. You'd really volunteer for a death sentence like that? Don't be an idiot."

_Never waste an opportunity to prove yourself. _

...

We've just watched a tiny little girl called Chall Reath get selected from the Reaping balls; she's shaking as she clambers onto the stage, and I roll my eyes. She's got no chance; I mean she's even shorter than me.

Then the Capitol attendant chooses a boy's name. I smirk at my friends; I'm keeping them in suspense.

"Kean Thorne," his head jerks up in surprise.

_Trying to steal my glory, I don't think so._

"I volunteer!" I call out, my voice ringing across the silent square.

_How'd you like me now?_


	6. Saying Goodbye

**Saying Goodbye.**

_Because the hardest part is cutting the ties from the things that make us truly human..._

Salima Yandas' brother wraps his arms around her wiry shoulders; she's shaking with shock and terror. He looks her squarely in the eyes, "Promise me you'll try." She nods her head weakly, but they both know that she'll find it hard to kill.

Samura Nightshade sits cross legged on the sofa, staring at the handle of the door attentively, almost desperately. She wasn't really expecting any visitors but she still can't pull her eyes away from the door. Willing someone, anyone to come and show her that she's worth a goodbye.

Olive Pithy's best friend, Loki shoots her a determined grin. "Use that brain of yours, ok?" He tells her, tapping her sharply on the side of her head. But Olive knows that it won't be easy; she's sure that the Capitol is punishing her for what her father did.

Sasha Darke squirms at the centre of a mass of her sobbing friends; she doesn't want to have to comfort them, only feel sorry for herself. Hayden squeezes her shoulders firmly, "Come back, ok? Life would sure be boring with you around Sash." Well, she already knew that.

Aaron Vargas grins at Envee as she slips into the room. How did he ever think that she was _just _a factory girl? He knows he can win, but there's a small part of him that doesn't quite believe this, and he doesn't want to waste this opportunity. He kisses her. Just in case.

Kelby Fuse hugs Kelz tightly, cradling him on her lap. She wants this last chance to memorise his face completely, so then at least if the worst happens, she'll have something good to think of in her last moments. She tries not to cry in front of her son.

Flint lies with her head resting on Opal's lap, her eyes tracing the contours of the wallpaper and creating vast landscapes in her mind. She knows Garnet is watching her but she can't bring herself to return to reality. Because then she'll have to face what's really happening.

Kye Willows wraps his arms around the only girl he ever loved; Amy Sattel, and he can't quite get his around the fact that this might the last time he ever gets to see her. No matter how hard it gets, he knows that he'll have to fight. He wants to come home to her.

Lien Axford watches as Mattieu slinks into the room, and she flashes him a determined look, to let him know that she plans to win this thing. They've both never been afraid to take on a challenge, and Lien just hopes she can do it without him.

Griffin Ashlock hugs Moira tightly; his twin sister who sometimes feels like she's just another extension of himself. "You have to come back Griff." Griffin thinks about how hard it is for him to kill even the smallest of animals. He knows he has to bury this weakness.

Misha Rolansky holds his little sister, Lena, in his lap – the orphanage mother is giving him five minutes alone with her. The suspicion in her eyes as she handed Lena over only made him more determined to win. He wants to prove that he's strong enough to take care of her.

Yari Meadows smirks as his friends slip into the room, looking at him with incredulous eyes. "What are you doing Yari?" they ask, but he knows they'll never understand. He wants to show them that he's stronger than he looks, then no one will ever tease him again.

Rivka Locklier tries to hold back the tears as her siblings embrace her. She locks eyes with her twin brother, Raviv, silent as ever; but they've never really needed words to communicate. She knows exactly what he's telling her as they lock eyes; you have to fight for us.

Harrow Followill tries to defend himself from the onslaught of hugs from his three boisterous younger brothers, and he bends to pick up Griet, his youngest sister. His father squeezes his shoulders tightly, and Harrow can't look away. "Who'll make us better if you leave?" Griet demands, and Harrow knows he has to fight. Who else will fix up his family?

* * *

Just something to keep you going because I probably won't get the chance to get another chapter out before friday :(


	7. The Train Journey

**Salima Yandas, District 1.**

Rocco Flinn, my male counterpart, barges past me in his haste to get onto the train, and my back bangs painfully into the wall. I don't get angry though, because I understand; I'm actually quite excited to see the train myself. After all, the Capitol is renowned for its luxurious decor. District 1 has never been that poverty stricken, but compared to the Capitol I might as well have been living my life in District 12.

I step delicately onto the train, watching Rocco in amusement as he stares, wide-eyed, at the hallway. But then my eyes pull away from him, and I survey the train myself. It makes me feel incredibly small, and insignificant. The hallway is wide, and the walls are covered with oak panelling that makes it seem to stretch on for forever. There are vast archways at various points along the corridor, decorated with golden leaves and tiny, fragile looking berries.

My jaw drops in astonishment; I had always dreamed of being an interior decorator when I was younger; but the rebellion had dried up all but essential supplies, and my mother always told me that it would be a completely unproductive career path to follow. Of course, now the rebellion's over, it might be possible to get some of the more luxurious items, needed for interior decorating again.

I'm so distracted by the sight of the magnificent hallway (and this is just the _hallway!_) that I've forgotten what I'm doing here, just for one moment, and the sight of our Capitol mentors pushing a door open brings me back down to earth with a crash.

When my brother, Leo, came to say goodbye to me, he made me promise that I would try to win. Try to come back to him. And I don't want to leave him alone; since our parents died in an explosion during the rebellion, we're all that each other has left. But, I don't think I can do it. Even Rocco, just fifteen, is so much bulkier, and determined looking than I feel. He looks like the kind of person that the Capitol citizens might want to sponsor. They certainly won't be interested in a scrawny little thing like me.

I don't think I'll be able to kill. I mean, my father made me train with a sword during the rebellion, just in case the rebels got as far as District 1 and I needed to defend myself. But I had only been going through the motions of swordplay; I'd be completely useless in an actual battle. Unless something exceptionally miraculous was to occur.

And knowing my luck... that would be unlikely.

I smile as the pair from the Capitol approach us; I don't want them to think that I'm completely uncultured. Anyway, I have to smile when I see them, because they're just so beautiful. Both of them have matching maroon skin, and dark, mysterious eyes. I think that one's male, and the other is female, but it's hard to tell because they're both so feminine.

"Who're you?" Rocco demands, and my stomach twists. How dare he be so rude? After all, they're here to help us, and I couldn't be more grateful.

The one who I think is the male shoots Rocco an angry glare, "Excuse me?"

"Just ignore him," I say, interrupting before this can get any worse, "he's quite immature, and doesn't really understand who he's talking to."

The female one (I think) raises an eyebrow at me, "Is that so?"

I press my lips together, and nod slowly. I cannot afford to offend these people.

"Well... we're your mentors. My name is Thea, and this is my brother, Theo," oh; I got their genders completely the wrong way around.

"It's lovely to meet you," I tell them, putting on my 'greeting visitors' face that my mother used to make me practice in the mirror, and extending my hand.

Thea shakes it firmly, "How charming."

Theo nods in agreement, and shakes my hand as well, "I agree, I was sure that everyone from the Districts would be completely savage. Here he shoots a look at Rocco, who is leaning back against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets and chewing some gum – he is obviously the poster boy for the kind of person that Theo is referring to.

I feel a faint surge of satisfaction – all those years of etiquette training are obviously coming in very useful right now. But I quickly suppress this feeling; after all, it isn't very lady-like.

They stare at me, clearly trying to assess what type of tribute I will turn out to be. Their eyes take in my thin, wiry frame and my strawberry blond hair. I hope they don't judge me too badly because of my freckles – mother always used to tell me to spend less time outdoors, but it's summer at the moment, and it's hard to resist the lure of the sun on my face.

I touch the folds of my peach coloured dress; it's the prettiest thing I own, made of soft, floaty fabric that hangs well around my body. I wore it for the Reaping because I wanted to look presentable if I did end up going to the Capitol, and it's a good thing that I did. I wanted to wear the dress that I had made myself, but I hadn't managed to finish it before this morning, even though I worked all night on it.

It's going to be an absolute masterpiece – a knee length strapless dress, made from a soft, sea green material that compliments my eyes. I'd finished sewing together the main pattern pieces, but it was the beading that I had got stuck on. It was impossible to find enough of the same kind since the rebellion – and I had a collection of sequins, tiny pearl coloured beads, silvery flowers and iridescent little hearts. But I didn't have enough of any of them to be able to finish my dress.

Maybe, if I win, I'll be able to find some from the Capitol. I'm sure they have beautiful beads in abundance there.

"Hmm, you might do, once the stylists get their hands on you."

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger – what's wrong with me at the moment?

"Yes, I think you're going to impress everyone in the Capitol."

They put their heads together and start muttering in low voices to one another. I was always taught that it's rude to whisper. I feel a pang as I picture my mother's face as she drilled that lesson into me, but I know that I can't afford to dwell on it for too long.

I decide that I want to see more of this train than just the hallway, so I pick a door, put my fingers on the handle and, when nobody stops me, slide it open.

My breath whooshes out of my lungs, but this time not in awe at the beautiful decoration, although, don't get me wrong – the room is gorgeous – it's at the speed the train is travelling at. I didn't know that anything could move this fast. Trees and fields whip by so quickly that they're distorted into a blur of green – in fact, I have no idea if they even are trees and fields.

I understand now why the Capitol was able to beat the rebels so easily. They have this amazing technology at their fingertips, and they're so _refined._

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

My adrenaline's still buzzing as I follow our escort onto the train. I haven't felt this good since the end of the rebellion; maybe it sounds strange, but I really felt like I'd found my place fighting against those rebels. I'd found a cause that I could believe in.

I can't help but smile as I think of my goodbye with Envee; I can't wait until I see her again. I just have to get over this need for excitement, this need to feel the rush of anticipation run through my veins whenever I'm facing anything dangerous, and then I'll be ready to settle down.

Maybe.

The smile slides off my face though, when I catch sight of Sasha. She's normally the kind of girl that I wouldn't be able to resist – you know, that classically beautiful, slightly arrogant girl who expects everyone to worship at her feet (and usually I do) but I know who she is and thought of being in the arena with her doesn't make my knees buckle but causes my heart to beat in excitement.

She sweeps past me down the corridor, following after our escort and I smirk at her back. No matter how hard she tries to hide it, I can tell that she's absolutely terrified.

"Sit down," we're being addressed by two jewel encrusted... people? I'm not all that sure. My pride bristles at being bossed around by these two ... (I still can't think of the word to describe them) – after all, I fought on their side during the rebellion and so surely I deserve a little more respect? I plaster a pleasant smile onto my face though, because I don't really have the energy to get into an argument with them. I'm sensing one might break out between them and Sasha though, because she's staring at them with open disgust.

Snow White! That's who she reminds me of – I remember my mother reading me that story when I was younger – except, I doubt that Snow White would've had that poisonous glare on her face. Poisonous apple, sure...

I sit down quickly, determined to ensure that they like me – after all, I'm going to need them once I get into the arena. Strong and skilled though I might be, something tells me that there could be any number of outside factors in that arena which might make luck the more valuable skill. I've heard that if you're popular then you can win sponsors from the Capitol audience and if these two like me, then they might be able to encourage more people to sponsor me. It doesn't mean I'm going to make friends with them though. I can't befriend people at the best of times, and I'm certainly not going to make the effort with these two.

In fact, Envee's the only person who I've allowed to get close enough to me to actually be called a friend. We shared the leadership position of our squad during the rebellion. Though at first I had completely resented the fact that I didn't have the leadership all to myself, and I had refused to accept her authority over the squad, I had soon begun to overlook the fact that she was a mere factory girl, and had let myself learn things about her past.

She shared my hatred of the rebellion – it was achieving nothing but death. Her parents had been killed in a raid of the rebels upon the justice building, and I had lost my younger sister when a bomb planted by the rebels had exploded in the town square.

After I had lost Brianna, I had needed to do something, anything to make those damn rebels pay for ripping my life apart.

The day that they had announced their surrender had been the happiest one of my life, especially because I'd had Envee by my side, and my happiness had been echoed in her own expression.

"Aaron?" Damn it, I had zoned out again. I really should make more of an effort to pay attention once people start speaking to me.

I blink at the two jewelies. "Huh?"

_Brilliant, Aaron. Your intellect levels are off the chart._

"I said that my name is Sapphire," says the one coated in blue stones, and I'll be your mentor, "and this is Ruby," the other one seems to have pieces of scarlet jewels glued to her skin, "she'll be working with Sasha."

Hmm, it's kind of annoying that we won't be mentored together, because I was hoping to find out what Sasha's strengths and weaknesses were. But then again, she seems to be fairly transparent, so hopefully if I switch on the charm she'll start spilling her guts about what she can, and can't, do.

Of course, she'll literally be spilling her guts once I get my hands on her in the arena. Her aunt had been in charge of the faction who'd planted the bomb that had killed Brianna. Seeing as her aunt was already dead, my only real option was to take my revenge on Sasha. The fact we were both tributes seemed to be fate.

Ruby leads Sasha out of the room, and Sapphire leans towards me, surveying me with interest.

"What?" I snap impatiently, regretting the words the second that they're out my mouth. But what right does she have to scrutinise me like that? "Do I have something on my face?" I ask sarcastically.

She laughs, "well, you've certainly got fire. Want to explain what you think your most prominent skill is."

_My high levels of self control, as clearly demonstrated by that outburst..._

I shrug, "I guess I'm pretty good with a spear." I had made my own during the rebellion, and let's just say that it been the last thing many rebels had seen before they died.

"How good?"

"Good enough," I tell her. I don't doubt my own skill, after all I wouldn't have volunteered if I'd thought that I had no chance of winning.

She huffs at my reply, "You look pretty strong."

"Strong enough." I probably shouldn't be trying so hard to annoy her. She's from the Capitol rather than one of those awful Districts who thought that the rebellion would be worth it, and anyway, she's trying to help me. "I mean, yeah, I've trained and worked outside for most of my life. So I'm pretty strong."

She nods, "you volunteered. You really think that you can win this thing?"

I smile, "I _know _that I'm going to win this thing."

**Harrow Followill, District 12**.

I'm trying to concentrate on breathing slowly, and staying calm, because I know that if I let myself think about what I'm being forced to do then I'll snap, and start yelling. Fury is twisting my stomach and clenching my fists. This whole thing is sick; forcing children and teenagers to kill each other... ever since my mother died in childbirth, I've spent all my time studying medicine, determined that I was going to be help to help anyone who gets hurt. But now I'm being thrown into an arena where I've deliberately got to hurt, or even kill, kids if I want a chance of getting back home.

Rivka's walking in front of me; a pang of sadness rushes through me as my eyes land on her. She's a short little girl; she must be less than 5ft with delicate, almost fragile looking features. What makes it worse is that she's one of the best friends of my little brother, Reid. I can't even imagine what he's feeling right now; guilt I'd imagine – he won't know which one of us to support.

Suddenly, one of Rivka's feet hits a stone and she lurches towards the ground; I start towards her but I don't get there in time. She raises her hands, and looks at them in surprise. My breath hisses through clenched teeth as I take in the sight of her ripped and bloody palms.

"Here," I take her shoulders – I don't want to take her hands and hurt her even more – and help her to her feet. "You alright?" I ask her in concern, she shouldn't be hurting herself before she evens gets into the arena.

She just shrugs, "I'm fine."

"Do you want me to take a look at your hands once we get onto the train? I'm sure they must have some medical supplies on there."

She glances up at me shyly, "If you don't mind?"

I've never really had that much to do with Reid's friends – he's far more sociable than I am, while he goes out and meets his friends, I lock myself in my room and study. It's just that if I ever want to even have a chance of becoming a doctor, then I need to know everything there is to know about medicine. It's not enough just to want to help people; you need to be good at it as well. There are not many things that I'm really that good at, but medicine is definitely one of them.

I throw Rivka a reassuring smile – Reid made me promise to keep an eye on her – "of course I don't mind." It's good practice anyway, I don't often get the chance to try out the practical of what I've learned, except from on my own family.

I realise that the escort is watching us impatiently, and I roll my eyes at Rivka. She giggles nervously, and I follow her towards the train.

The moment we step onto the train I demand a first aid kit, "You're supposed to be meeting your mentors," our escort, Lana Stiles says stroppily, "not messing around with a medical kit."

"I need to sort out her hands," I point out, "or they might get infected or-"

"Fine," she snaps, but you can do it once you've been introduced to your mentors."

"During," I say stubbornly, holding my hand out for the medical kit. I bet the Capitol have some pretty advanced stuff and I'm eager to get my hands on it and check it out. Most of the time in District 12 we get our medicine from the apothecary, or from the meadow if you can recognise the plants well enough, like me.

I grin as she thrusts a small red box into my grasp, and my fingers itch to wrench it open and take a look inside. Lana pushes Rivka and I into another room before I get the chance to though.

All my senses are assaulted at once as we enter the room, waves of colour in front of my eyes, piercing shrieks of excitement threaten to burst my eardrums, wafts of an overly flowery perfume scent invade my nostrils and mouth, and lastly folds of soft fabric brush against my skin as I'm enveloped in an embrace.

My anger starts to boil over again as I take in the strange forms of our Capitol mentors.

What right do these brightly decorated, bird-like people have to force me to kill strangers, just for their entertainment? This is beyond any reasonable punishment, it's absolutely sick.

I press my lips together in a hard line; I don't want to talk to these people. Rivka remains silent too, but I get the feeling that's more due to the fact that she's shy, rather than filled to the bursting point with anger.

"Our names are Milo and Yula," they twitter away enthusiastically.

I just stare at them, trying to come to terms with their strange image. I glance sideways at Rivka, who looks just as dumbstruck as I feel.

Milo and Yula also exchange a glance with one another, "Well, we'll leave you two to get accustomed to the train and then we'll come and talk to you about your skills, and what the Hunger Games is really all about."

It's about killing people, isn't it? I wasn't aware that torture had any deeper meaning.

I breathe a sigh of relief as they leave the room, and my limbs sag because this is so exhausting and I have no idea what I'm really doing. I close my eyes and think of my three younger brothers, and Griet; at least I can be grateful that it's me and not them.

As I force my eyes back open I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the other side of the room. My blonde hair falls messily across my forehead and there are dark shadows underneath my blue eyes. I spot Rivka in the mirror; she's watching the walls with uncertain eyes while the blood from her palms drips steadily onto the ground.

I sigh heavily, "Come on, I'll patch your hands up for you."

She perches on the edge of the sofa, and holds her hands out to me. My fingers rustle eagerly through the medical box, and I smile as I find a small spray top bottle, labelled, "Antiseptic," I've read about this in my medical books, but I've never actually seen it before. It's too expensive for the inhabitants of District 12, we have to make do with using garlic as an antiseptic instead.

"This might sting," I warn her before I spray it onto her palms. She winces but doesn't say anything. I'm starting to realise that Rivka's a very quiet girl.

"Sorry," I say as I dab as the wounds little with a soft white pad. This stuff is so much more advanced that anything we have back home.

"Reid says you're always studying medicine. Do you want to be a doctor?" she asks me softly.

The mention of Reid sends a pang of longing through me, but I swallow, and say determinedly, "I'm going to be a doctor. It's all I've ever wanted to do."

"You don't want to work in your father's pub then?"

I laugh, and just shake my head. I don't think I have the right demeanour to work in a pub – the men who come in just want a bartender who can get involved in a bit of boisterous banter with them. Not that my father's been doing much of that recently; he's barely strung two words together since my mother died.

"I think it's a good goal. If I make it back home, I'll probably just end up working in my parent's store."

"If you make it back you can do anything you want."

"Can I ask you a question?"

You've already asked me plenty, I think in amusement, but I nod my head anyway.

"Maybe we'd have a better chance in the arena if we worked together," she says hesitantly, and I feel confused. She wants to team up in the arena? Even though only one of us can win? Still, I can understand why she's suggesting it. We'd last longer if there were two of us.

I smile, "that's not a question."

"Do you want to be allies?"

I finish wrapping the bandage round her palm, and then nod. I shake her hand gently, "Allies."


	8. The Preparation

**Kye Willows, District 8.**

A strange collection of people sweep round me; they keep patting parts of my face and tugging on locks of my jet black hair. If I didn't know better then I'd swear that this was a dream. Unfortunately this is all too real, and my mind is struggling to come to terms with that.

Was it really only yesterday morning that I had wished Amy good luck before the Reaping, and that she'd smiled that sweet smile of hers at me? I smile to myself as I remember how nervous she'd been about the Reapings.

_She watches my with those dark, anxious eyes that have seen far too much suffering and pain. "Just don't, Amy," I warn her as her chin trembles in fear, "you won't get picked."_

"_How do you know? Anyone one of us could get picked..."_

"_Not the adults," I point out, grinning at her as her face twists in annoyance. _

_She slaps me on the arm, "don't be so damn pedantic."_

I'm just so relieved that her fears were all for nothing; in a way I've got the better end of this scenario – even though it sounds strange. It's just that there's no way that I could bear to sit around at home, having to watch her on the television and knowing that she was risking her life every day. At least if I'm the one in the arena, I only have to be worried about myself, and anyway, I can do something to get home to her. I'd feel so helpless if it had been the other way round.

I feel slightly guilty for this thought, but I know that she'll have plenty to distract herself with. After my oldest brother, Garlow and his wife had died during the rebellion, I had discovered that I had been named the legal guardian of his daughter – much to my parent's confusion, after all, I'd had a pet beetle, Tito, when I was six years old, and had let it escape, then trashed the whole house in my desperate search to find Tito. Needless to say, I'd never been allowed another pet since, and my parents certainly had some serious doubts about my ability to take care of anything living.

So, when Amy had asked me to move in with her – both of her parents had been executed after fighting against the Capitol as part of the rebellion – it had solved two problems at once. Amy wouldn't be alone, and I could take care of Lila without the disapproving stares of my parents. We had been dating since we were both thirteen, and after having lived with her for a year, I only love her more than I ever did.

I'm glad that Amy can occupy herself with taking care of Lila. She really will make a great mother someday.

Tears suddenly prick at the back of my eyelids at this thought, and I have to blink rapidly to try and clear them from my eyes. I don't want these Capitol freaks to see me sobbing – they already clearly think that District 8 is a complete waste of space. It's just... Amy and I had always used to talk about the future, and to be honest, I'd never really planned on spending it with anyone but her. She was all that I would ever need – someone to make me laugh, and someone who I knew needed me to take care of her. But ever since they announced the Hunger Games, there had been an unspoken pact between us not to mention the future. Not when it was so uncertain and talking about it would make things so much harder if either one of us was to be selected.

I'm quite glad of that silent agreement now – but just because we never spoke about it, it didn't stop me from thinking about it, and imagining how the future might turn out. Especially when I watched her take of Lila, I couldn't help but think of things like this.

And now the idea that she might pick someone else if I die? That she might have children with a different guy, and live her life without me?

It's an impossible thought, but one that I'm now being forced to consider. My jaw clenches, and my whole body refuses to give in. I won't let myself succumb to these Games. I saw the Reapings of the other tributes, and some of them were scrawny looking things. I'll definitely have more of a chance than them.

I won't let myself think about some of the huge tributes – the ones that look like they could snap your neck in three seconds flat. Or the sneaky looking ones who'll betray you in a heartbeat. That's not my style – my plan, and my mentor agreed with this, is just to play it by instinct. Or as I said, "Get in and get back out again,"- losing is not an option for me. Not when I'd be giving up so much if I died.

I suck in a deep breath and force myself to return to reality. The trio of Capitol birds finally seem to be finished with me, and are holding up a mirror so that I can see the finished look. Apparently, we have to do some sort of chariot ride in front of a Capitol audience. Every tribute will have a stylist to give them a certain look and then they'll be presented to the world.

I glance in the mirror – I honestly didn't think I was that bad looking anyway, but the amount of time that they've spent on my face... well, they must not have liked what they saw.

My skin seems to be a weird texture, and it feels powdery as I raise a finger to touch my cheek. I regret doing this when, a second later, one of the birds bats my hand away viciously, "Leave it," she snaps. My hair has been arranged to look ruffled and messy, but clearly in a very precise way. I have to suppress an eye roll – it took them this long, and I still look exactly the same as I always do...!

"You're going to be introduced to your stylist now." My stomach churns slightly – my life will rest in the hands of this Capitol stranger. It churns even more angrily as my stylist actually enters the room.

He looks surprisingly normally, apart from the slightly sparkly tone to his skin – his stomach is quite round and portly, and I think his nails are painted mauve, but I could cope with this. But it's his hair. The sides of his head are shaved, and the rest has obviously been gelled to stand up – it protrudes about a metre into the air, and the tips of it are bright pink, just like his nails.

He clicks his fingers with an air of superiority, and two young girls come darting into the room, clutching something between them.

"So," he says, surveying me in distaste, "as you know your chariot outfit has to reflect your district."

I nod, "yep."

"Well, I had a stroke of brilliance. Your district is in charge of fabrics, and clothes-making, right?"

"Right." What is he going to make me wear?

He whips out my outfit from the bag that the two girls are grasping and holds it out towards me, clearly expecting me to be impressed. I, however, feel utterly horrified.

It's a suit, I think, but it's made up from patches of different types of fabrics, all stitched haphazardly together. Some of the sections look quite appealing – the parts with darker coloured, higher quality material, but some of them are ghastly. The right trouser leg is comprised completely from spotted, striped and chequered fabric, all in the most garish colours imaginable.

I'm going to look like a multicoloured Frankenstein.

**Rivka Locklier, District 12.**

"Oh, what a charming little face she has!" exclaims one of the men who are helping to prep me for my chariot ride this evening. The chariot ride that causes my whole body to tighten up in anxiety when I think of the huge audience who will be watching me. Everyone across the whole of Panem will see those chariot rides, and who's betting that I'm going to do something absolutely stupid?

I glance up at the man who has just spoken; he's tall. As in, unnaturally tall and spindly looking, and he's dyed his skin a pale green colour. In fact, he kind of looks like one of those grasshopper things that I used to have a picture of in my insect book. Anger flares in my stomach as I think of the way the Capitol took away most of my books after the rebellion failed. It's something that I can never forgive the rebels, or the Capitol for. I had been collecting those books ever since my father had taught me to read when I was tiny. The fiction ones were my favourite, even though I'd had more non-fiction ones. My favourite book had been about a teenage boy who goes to a school in order to learn magic. It sounds stupid, I know, but it was actually pretty good. I just regretted that I'd only been able to get my hands on the first one.

I wanted to be able to write books, more than anything else in the world. I love how you can communicate anything through writing and how you can transplant yourself into some else's head. I used to write whenever and wherever I got the chance. On scraps of the paper that was so hard to come by in our District, at the blank pages at the end of my books (that one had used to annoy the hell out of my older sister, Ari, who had called me a vandal) and once, even on the walls in our kitchen. I'd run out of space on my piece of paper, and then I'd just kept going onto the walls. My parents had gone spare when they'd come in and seen me happily scribbling away on the wallpaper. My father's normally so passive, and relaxed, but that was the one time I've ever really seen him fly off the handle.

The strange insect man is running a comb through my now damp, blonde hair. It's usually bright blond, but the water's made it go darker – it makes me look like a different person when my hair turns that colour. I think of the way in which my prep team had made me strip my clothes off, and get into a bath with all of them watching me. My cheeks start flushing red again as I think of how humiliated I had felt. Isn't it bad enough that they're forcing us to take part in these Hunger Games? They could at least let us keep some of our dignity.

I blame the rebels for this just as much though. Sure, nothing was perfect before the rebellion but I had been quite content with the life that I'd been leading. The rebellion had only brought disease and death. Anyway, they'd lost, so it all turned out to be for nothing in the end.

"I'm going to cut it," grasshopper man suddenly announces and I jump in my chair.

So far I've been quiet and uncomplaining, just letting them get on with their job and trying to ignore their inane gossip as they chatter away to one another. But this is going too far, I like my hair...

"Why?" I mutter, but I don't think he hears me, because he's already brandishing a huge pair of metal shears. He puts them to my head and I jerk away violently.

"It's ok sweetheart," the woman with whiskers says gently, kneeling down in front of me so she can look me in my eyes. I lower mine though, I never really like making eye contact with people. "It's just that long hair is making you look too young and, well, innocent. It's not a good look for the Games – you'll never get any sponsors if you look _sweet_." She looks absolutely scandalised at the idea, and I just sigh. It doesn't look like I'll get much say in this.

I clamp my eyes shut, and wince every time he cuts a strand of hair. I know I promised my mentors that I would just accept whatever the prep team and the stylists did to me, but I've been growing my hair for years.

I remember the time that my little sister, Lita, got hold of the scissors and crept up on Raviv while he was asleep. I smile as I think of the reaction of my twin brother when he'd woken up and found a chunk of his hair missing; he had just laughed. He never gets angry, especially not with Lita, whose bright and bubbly personality makes it impossible to shout at her. Although, I'll be honest, if she gets on my nerves too much I do tend to lose it, and snap at her.

I remember Raviv's face as he looked in the mirror, and examined the bald patch on the back of his head. He barely says a word to anyone; in fact, I think I'm about the only person who has actual conversations with, and he's incredibly good natured. I think I'm like him to an extent, but whereas Raviv has no exploding point, my temper can be set off by the littlest of things.

"It's finished!" my prep team suddenly exclaim in excitement. I'm quite glad they distracted me, because I don't like thinking about Raviv. I'm never lonely while he's around, and while Harrow has been perfectly friendly to me, it's not the same as having someone with you who knows what you're thinking without you having to say it.

I open my left eye hesitantly, but my right one snaps open as well as I glance at my reflection in shock. My hair is _short_ – a choppy fringe sweeps across my forehead, and the rest of my hair is cut close to my head; almost like a boy's hair. I feel strangely exposed without the usual weight of my hair but I understand why they did it. While before my delicate features made me look sweet, and angelic, this hair style makes me look more ferocious. It's given an edge to my face.

The door swings open, and I'm distracted from my new look as a young woman walks in. She doesn't look as strange at the prep team do; sure, she has aqua blue hair, but at least she hasn't dyed her skin or tried to make herself resemble a cat.

"I'm Rhea," she says, shooting me a reassuring smile as I wonder what I'm going to have to wear.

"Hi," I somehow manage to stutter out. This woman has an authoritative presence that makes me nervous.

"So," she gets straight down to business, "I'd like you get to changed into your outfit now."

I try to suppress a sigh as she hands it over; it's an orange jumpsuit coated in a thin layer of coal dust. I'm going to face the Capitol dressed as a miner, great...

I change quickly, pulling the soft fabric over my skin, and Rhea claps her hands together in excitement as I finish zipping myself in.

"You look absolutely magnificent," my prep team gush as she holds out a pair of thick, lace-up boots for me to wear. I shove my feet into them, and try and avoid looking into the mirror. I bet I look awful. She holds out a black hard-hat with a torch face in the shape of a number twelve perched on top of it.

I place it on my head and she flicks a switch. The torch casts a strange sparkly light over the room. "I want some smudges of coal on her cheeks," Rhea directs her prep team.

Exasperatedly I wonder why they spent so much time making sure the powder on my face matched my skin tone perfectly if they were just going to obscure their hard work anyway.

Rhea holds up a mirror for me and I glance into it with disinterest. A stranger glares back at me.


	9. The Chariot Rides

**Olive Pithy, District 3.**

The welding mask keeps slipping down in front of my eyes, and I jam it back up quickly. I glance down at myself, inspecting my costume. I'm dressed in a blue jumpsuit, made from a soft fabric that I don't recognise. The jumpsuit has only been pulled up to my waist though, and my top half is only covered by a very skimpy white tank tap. I have to keep fiddling with that as well as the mask, because I'm paranoid that it's going to reveal too much. There's a bright green belt around my waist; a last minute addition when the stylist noticed my eyes.

As we sit waiting for the procession to start Jared suddenly pulls at my arm. Panic rushes through me whenever I think of my tiny little, twelve year old district partner. He's so skinny that they made him wear a padded costume so that his ribs wouldn't stick out and disgust the Capitol audience. But I don't think he'll be getting too many sponsors anyway.

His quiet, intelligent brown eyes remind me of my younger sister, Glacies. He's almost the same age as she is, and there's something in the way he holds himself, and speaks that reminds me so much of her. I just hope that she's coping with mum, who's been quieter than ever after dad... Still, I think that I can trust Glacies to deal with things back home. After all, out of my sisters, she's by far the more reliable twin. Or maybe I'm just biased because I like her slightly more.

Flamma, my other sister, is a complete stuck-up snob. I can't even remember the last time she deigned to look at me, let alone speak to me. Apparently I'm an _embarrassment _at school because I keep to myself and work hard. I didn't always used to be so painfully shy; there had actually been a time when I had been quite popular at school. But once they executed dad... I just didn't really up to socialising very much. Besides, I'd had other things to worry about – the Hunger Games were supposed to be a punishment, and I'd figured that maybe the Capitol weren't satisfied with just punishing dad. They wanted to punish his family as well.

How hard would it have been, really, for the Capitol to have rigged those Reapings? It just seems like a bit too much of a coincidence to me.

So I'd made sure that I started training. Just a little bit, I mean I'm no muscle machine, but I made sure that I could run. That way at least I can escape from a fight.

I glance down at Jared, the familiar flare of pity in my stomach. "What did Sheela and Rita," our mentors, "say that we had to do?"

I remember the conversation like it happened five seconds ago rather than this morning, "We have to wave and look happy – like this doesn't bother us at all, and I especially have to try and act like I'm not really that shy. You have to sit up straight so that you look taller and we're not allowed to talk to each other," I reel off effortlessly, not really liking the last piece of advice. I guess we've already broken that one though.

Jared's looking at me in open-mouthed astonishment. "What?"

"How did you remember all of that?" he demands, looking confused.

I can't help but smile at his expression, "I just have a good memory," I tell him dully and stare ahead as the arena starts to fill with people. I can't help the nervousness that makes my limbs tremble; I've always hated being in front of audiences of any kind, and this is the biggest audience that there has ever been. I'm awkward at the best of times, but there's something about a huge crowd of people that makes my tongue stumble over my words, and my limbs turn to jelly.

"That's more than a good memory," Jared replies.

I smile sadly as I remember my dad saying the exact same thing to me the first time that he realised how good I was at remembering things. He had glanced at me with the same look of confusion that I can see in Jared's expression now. It's nothing really that special though; it's easier to remember something that I've read because then I can actually visualise the words on the page in my brain, but it's works with people talking as well, because I just have to remember the way their mouth looked as they were speaking.

My dad insisted that it made me 'special' though. No one's called me that since he died – executed because of his brilliance. He had been a rebel engineer during the rebellion, and had come up with some truly innovative inventions – stuff that I don't even understand. Weapons and defence mechanisms that played a huge part in gaining ground against the Capitol. But once the rebels surrendered, my dad was pretty high up on the list of people who were to be executed. They took him away on the evening of the surrender and televised his execution live. My mum made my sisters leave the room but I refused to. So I had watched as they had hung my father, and my mother's soul had died along with him.

I keep thinking that I see him though; sometimes it's just someone who looks remarkably like him. But then sometimes... sometimes there's no explanation and I swear that it's really him. So, if there's no logical explanation, then it must be his... spirit?

Ever since I was six years old I've been absolutely petrified of ghosts; I saw this fat old lady coming up the stairs on my house, but she wasn't making any sound. Our stairs are extremely creaky; you can hear every single foot step that people take on the steps, but it was completely silent. Like she was gliding, or something.

I don't know – I normally think so logically about stuff like that but I can't forget what I saw that day. It still sends shivers down my spine whenever I think about her.

A shudder runs through me now, and Jared obviously feels it and sends me a confused glance.

A sudden gong rings out across the arena, and I start in terror. This is the signal for the chariot rides to begin, and I'm definitely not ready.

We watch as District 1's chariot is pulled into view by two beautiful, pure white horses. I can't help but watch the girl in amazement; she's beautiful. Her strawberry-blonde hair is piled high on the top of her head, and looks so sleek and shiny that it makes me run my fingers through my own lank blonde hair in jealousy. Her costume looks so perfect as well, as if her stylist actually put some effort into it. It's coated in fragments of jewels and shiny stones. I glance back down at my welding outfit in distaste.

Then District 2 rushes past and I can't really see anymore, because my mouth has gone all dry and fingers are shaking as I push my hair back off my face. The horses are surging forwards and all the advice about waving and smiling goes straight out of my head. I just concentrate on not embarrassing myself.

**Lien Axford, District 9.**

I pull at the folds of the green dress my stylist had forced me into. White boots that cut off the circulation in my legs, and a white shawl that resembles one that my granny used to own complete my outfit. I resent the fact that I've been made to wear a dress for one thing; it's so constricting. How can you do anything if you're wearing a stupid, floaty piece of material that blows up in your face, completely humiliating you, whenever there's a slight breeze? Answer, you can't. Still, I guess it makes me look younger, which should hopefully have a positive effect on these Capitol morons.

I watch with distaste as the other tributes are pulled slowly past us, and I twirl a strand of my reddish-brown hair idly around my finger. These idiots aren't worth watching; there's the girl from District 3 who looks like she's about to pass out, the blonde haired gorilla from District 4 who probably can't tell one of a pencil from the other, and the girl from District 7 who doesn't look like she's all there. In fact, I actually think that she almost fell out of her chariot. They all look even stupider in person than they did during the recap of the Reapings.

And what about the idiot that I'm stuck with? Griffin Ashlock; his very name causes my lip to curl in derision. Ever since we got on the train yesterday he's been making these non-stop jokes that make me want to slap him in the face. My brother, Trevor, used to be able to tell amazing jokes. You know, one's that could actually make people laugh. He always used to make me laugh; his jokes were clever too, not just this stupid observational humour that Griffin seems to be so skilled at...

Every time that I close my eyes I can still picture my brother so clearly. Strong and handsome – he had been my hero in every way. Still _is _my hero actually, seeing as I'm unable to find anyone else who matches up to him.

It still makes me feel physically sick when I think of the day that we received the news about him. I remember how I had just lain in bed for months after it had happened; not wanting to speak to anyone, or even move. Because in my eyes there had been no point once Trevor wasn't there anymore. I didn't care when my mum tried to tempt me to get up with a wide smile and my favourite food. I didn't move when my dad tried talking to me in his soothing voice, trying to persuade me to be reasonable.

I only started being active again when I remember something that Trevor had said to me before he had left to join the rebellion and turned my whole life upside down; _you have to be brave Pixie, no matter what happens to me._

I'd hated him so much when he'd joined up – he was supposed to be there for _me_ not fighting for some distant cause that hardly seemed important.

I clench my fists tightly, ignoring the strange look that Griffin gives me.

Trevor had been sent off to District 2 with his squad. I had made myself sick even then, just thinking about all the possibilities, and considering what could happen to him. He was too far away – I just couldn't understand why he had no longer been satisfied with fighting against the Capitol secretly. We had supplied the troops with food and money, surely that had been enough.

_Why, Trevor? _I think now, as my eyes scan the rest of the tributes. If he had been reaped he would have beaten them all so easily.

Strong, brave, clever.

What am I supposed to do without him?

I sigh as our chariot suddenly starts gliding forwards and I shove a sweet smile onto my face, getting ready to fool the Capitol audience, just like I had fooled the members of my District at the Reaping. I smile to myself as I think of the groan that had erupted from the crowd as my name had been chosen, and of the surprise on Griffin's face when he shook my hand and realised that I hadn't just given up. Everyone just assumes that because I'm a fragile little girl that I have no chance of winning this thing. Well, they can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. They don't know my strategy.

I turn to Griffin now, meaning to put my plan into action as soon as I can, and begin convincing him that I'm exactly the kind of ally that he wants. After all, he's kind of stupid looking, so I doubt he'll really be able to see through my facade, and he certainly looks strong enough to last a while once we get into the arena. Once he ends up getting killed, I'll just put on my innocent face again and persuade someone else to team up with me. It'll be a piece of cake.

But as I watch Griffin's face I realise that he's not playing the slightest bit of attention to me, which clenches my jaw because I'm trying to look all scared and stuff so that he'll want to protect me. Instead, his eyes are glued onto the girl sitting in District 2's chariot. I glance over, not the slightest bit interested in what I see there. I mean sure, she looks fairly muscular but she's certainly not what I'd call pretty. Plus, she doesn't look very friendly; I didn't think guys liked girls who went round glaring all the time. Matthieu certainly hates it whenever I give him a menacing look. Although, I can't deny that it's very effective in getting him to shut up.

I roll my eyes as I watch Griffin's face – he's clearly a lost cause then. I need someone to focus entirely on _me, _not on some moody blonde haired girl who looks perfectly ready to stab the boy in the chariot with her.

I scan the other tributes, and my eyes land back on the muscle mass from District 4. Stupid and strong; he looks like the perfect combination to me.

I blow a kiss in the direction of the crowd, and am greeted by an ear-splitting eruption of, "Aaaaaw," and I have to work hard to suppress an eye roll and keep my true feelings hidden from the crowd. I try to simply look gratified by their response, rather than seething with anger over the death of my brother and the fact that they're throwing me into an arena with these idiots.

I sigh as I watch their ecstatic faces. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only sane person left in the world.

* * *

We've now met all of the tributes! :) Start thinking about who your favourites are...


	10. Spectators I

**Spectators.**

The young Capitol girl watches in exhilaration as the Chariots thunders across the arena. Her pink hair bobs up in down in excitement as she struggles to see past the taller members of the crowd.

Felicity Theobald had been told about the Hunger Games by her parents, and she couldn't wait for them to finally begin. All the suspense and anticipation that had been building ever since the President had first announced the Games would finally be released. It would be some show!

Her eyes are drawn to the first chariot, and she glances down at the programme she clutches tightly in her hands.

She scans the booklet, trying to spot the name of the tribute she has just set her eyes upon. _A-ha! _Salima Yandas. Felicity gapes in wonder at this beautiful young girl – if she's scared then she's hiding it well, and Felicity just wants to rip the costume off of her – it's so gorgeous. It's a dress made from thousands of pieces of tiny coloured jewels. She stomps her feet in envy; it's so unfair that these people from the Districts get to wear something more beautiful than anything that she owns. She tears her eyes away from Salima because her posture, which is just oozing self confidence, is starting to get on her nerves. Felicity turns her attention to District 2.

Once again it's the female tribute who pulls her eyes in, and she glances back down at the programme so that she can put a name to a face. Samura Nightshade, it says. Felicity thinks the name sounds strong and dangerous; she'll be keeping an eye on this girl. Especially seeing as she's staring daggers at the male tribute from her District. She's dressed in a simple black outfit, which looks even plainer seeing as it follows after that beautiful jewel encrusted garment. Still, it creates quite a terrifying image when coupled with her stony glare and pale hair. Felicity shudders and turns away to look at District 3.

The poor things are dressed in welder's outfits; they look absolutely atrocious, and Felicity knows they won't be winning many sponsors after people have seen these drab outfits. The girl, Olive Pithy according to her programme, looks petrified. Her skin is completely drained of colour and she keeps glancing around in an edgy, nervous way that makes Felicity feel uncomfortable. But there's a hint of anger behind her eyes – Felicity wonders what she holds the Capitol responsible for.

District 4 is up next, and _woah, _her eyes widen as she spots the attractive pair. The girl, Sasha Darke, is absolutely stunning, and Felicity squeals in approval as she realises what she's dressed as; a mermaid! She has a shiny blue tail and a seashell bra – she looks absolutely unforgettable. Felicity watches with interest as she raises her hand almost regally to the crowd, and then she screams along with everyone else. Willing this beautiful girl to look in her direction.

The male, Aaron Vargas, is impressively muscled. He's the kind of guy who'll have all the teenage girls screaming around him. Indeed, just as she predicted, a caterwauling of high pitched, girly shrieks erupts from the front rows of the crowd as they spot him. He yanks his tie off from around his neck, and gives a cocky smile as the girls scream even louder. Felicity notices how his stylist hasn't gone overboard with the outfit; obviously deciding to let his muscles and his face do the talking for him.

Next up is District 5, and the girl's fiery red hair catches Felicity's attention. She's wearing a pale dress, decorated with numbers, obviously chosen deliberately to make her hair colour stand out even more. Felicity is sure that tomorrow the salons will be filled with people wanting to have their hair dyed the same colour as Kelby Fuse's, and actually she's quite tempted to get her own hair dyed. After all, she's had it this pink colour for a while now. Kelby raises a trembling hand and waves to the crowd. But then she smiles brightly and the crowd whoop.

Felicity's attention is distracted away from the District 6 tributes as the girl from District 7 loses her balance and almost falls out of the chariot. The girl, Ceylon Touramaline, has a dreamy, dazed look in her eyes and stares past the crowd as if she isn't really registering them. Felicity laughs as she notices what her costume is – a pale blue body suit and a white headdress; she's a cloud! Must be to match the fact that she's a bit of a daydreamer. Her dark hair falls in front of her eyes and she smiles slightly. Felicity wonders what she's thinking about.

Then out comes the tall, proud looking boy from District 8. Kye Willows; he has a determined set to his jaw that makes Felicity wonder who he's fighting to come home for. The way he pays so much attention to the crowd, and is clearly weighing up how he should please them best makes Felicity realise that he wants to win this thing. She feels a surge of excitement in her chest, but she wonders how many sponsors he'll really get wearing a haphazard outfit that looks like it look less than five minutes to stitch together.

The girl from District 9 is adorable. She looks so delicate and innocent that the crowd are going wild for her. Felicity even spots a woman in front of her who is openly crying. A sweet little smile lights up Lien Axford's features and Felicity actually feels quite sorry for her; she obviously has no clue what's going to happen to her during the Games. Her outfit looks quite plain and drab, but none of that matters when she blows a kiss in Felicity's direction. "Aaaw," the crowd love her.

The boy looks quite interesting too actually, Griffin Ashlock. He's wearing a soft waistcoat, made out of some kind of animal hide, and he looks like a classic hunter to Felicity. There's a small, amused smile on his face as he lifts a hand to wave to the crowd. But then his eyes seem to spot something and Felicity twists her head round wildly, trying to work out what it is that he's looking at. The girl from District 2? She snorts; he'll have no chance.

The boy from District 10, Misha Rolansky, absolutely terrifies Felicity. He's definitely good looking, with his blonde hair and defined cheekbones that look almost feminine, but there's something dangerous about his eyes, and the way in which he moves, that makes Felicity realises that he'll definitely be a tribute to watch. His eyes glitter angrily as he swings his head around to survey the crowd and Felicity wants to duck out of his eye line. His fists clench and a smirk breaks out on his face.

The boy from District 11 looks quite like an elf in his green outfit, and little pointed hat. If his crossed arms and angry scowl are anything to go by, he's clearly not very happy about his stylist's choice. Felicity watches as Yari Meadows scans the Capitol audience, a mischievous little smirk on his elfin features and he pushes a strand of jet black hair out of his eyes. He looks like he'll be annoying as hell, Felicity thinks to herself as he shoots an arrogant little smirk in the direction of the crowd.

Felicity sighs sadly; only the District 12 chariot left to go now. They're both wearing coal miners' outfits which don't evoke any interest from the crowd, and although their torches are emitting a strange, sparkling glow, it doesn't make up for the drab jumpsuits. The girl, Rivka Locklier, has closely cropped blonde hair, which makes the edges of her face look more dangerous and animalistic; Felicity remembers that she had long hair at the Reaping. She looks scared though; her fingers are trembling as she waves.

The male tribute, Harrow Followill, is quite tall, but Felicity notices with distaste that he's quite skinny as well; that won't do him any good once he gets into the arena. He's got a nice face though, even if most of it is obscured by his shaggy blonde hair. Felicity wonders if the girls will prefer him or Aaron from District 4. She can't quite make up her mind who she thinks is better looking quite yet. The boy ducks his head and mutters something to Rivka that makes her laugh.

Felicity watches as the chariots are pulled back out of the arena, and feels jealous of some of the wonderful costumes that she had seen on the tributes. In her eyes it would be worth going into the Hunger Games just to wear those gorgeous outfits. Her mind reels back over the tributes that she had seen; they certainly are a mixed bunch, and Felicity can't quite make up her mind as to who is her favourite.

* * *

I'm such an idiot and completely forgot to include Misha in this... I hope that his creator can forgive me! Anyway, he's in there now.


	11. Voting

**Voting.**

This chapter is just how to explain how voting/sponsoring will work.

You're not limited to voting for a just one tribute, and you are allowed to give your own tributes some points. Notice I say _some_ - if you're only voting for your tributes I _might _start ignoring your votes! ;)

_How to get 1 point for a tribute:_

Review or PM me (or both) with the name of the tribute you want to give a point to.

I'm going to put a poll up at some point, so voting on that gets a tribute one point.

_How to get 5 points for a tribute:_

From this chapter onwards, I'm going to post a question at the end of every chapter. PM me with the answer, and the name of the tribute who you want those five points to go to.

The votes are accumulative so it's important to starting voting NOW for your favourites.

Once we reach the actual Games, I'll check the number of votes whenever I have time to type up a chapter, and the tribute with the lowest number of points will be killed, so remember to get as many points for your favourites as you can.

Just as a reminder, this is a list of the fourteen tributes who you can vote for:

**Salima Yandas (17)**

**Samura Nightshade (15)**

**Olive Pithy (15)**

**Sasha Darke (17) **

**Aaron Vargas (17)**

**Kelby Fuse (15**)

**Ceylon Sapphire Touramline, aka Flint (17) **

** Kye Willows (17) **

**Lien Axford (13)**

** Griffin Ashlock (16)**

**Misha Rolansky (17)**

**Yari Meadows (14)**

**Rivka Locklier (15)**

**Harrow Followill (18)**

**_Get voting! _**

**_

* * *

_**Question: Name the four flavours of vaseline. (This may be because I just used some vaseline... Actually, I'll give another three points to anyone who can guess which flavour of vaseline I just used.)

**_ Remember to include the name of the tribute you want these five points to go towards.  
_**


	12. The Training: Day One

**Samura Nightshade, District 2.**

I make sure to deliberately barge into Zack's shoulder as I stomp out of the elevator towards the training centre. It must be some kind of sick joke that Dahla's kid has ended up in the Games with me. Ever since we stepped onto the train together, I've been watching him closely; trying to assess what kind of a person he is. I have reached the conclusion that he's arrogant and despises receiving any kind of criticism. But he's also fairly strong – I have to make good use of this training time if I want a chance of being able to take him down in the arena.

He glances at me with confused eyes as we enter the training room together; he still has no idea what my problem with him is, but I haven't spoken a single word to him. So he'll just have to keep on wondering.

I sigh as I enter the room; maybe I should feel somewhat afraid of the other tributes. After all, they're the people who stand between me and getting out of this thing alive, but I can't really bring myself to find the emotions to care. I feel perfectly comfortable in this kind of surrounding though, because it vaguely resembles the building back in District 2 where I had been training to be a peacekeeper. Of course, we didn't have all of the different stations that I can see dotted around the room, all offering to teach a different skill; camouflage, wresting, sword fighting, or knot tying.

I glance around at the other tributes that are already assembled; there aren't many seeing as our mentors pushed us to come down early to give us more of a chance to get to know who the other tributes are. I recognise the tall blonde-haired girl in the corner as being from District 1, but her district partner is nowhere to be seen. She amazes me by suddenly bounding towards us and every instinct in my body is telling me to get away from her. I've never been good at talking to strangers and she's advancing with her hand held out as though she actually expects me to shake it.

"I'm Salima," she tells us, with this huge artificial smile on her face, "I can't believe how late everyone else. I made sure to wake up especially early so that I'd be down here on time."

She's still holding her hand out and I just glance up at her in confusion, not sure what to say to this strange, enthusiastic girl. Zack, on the other hand, approaches her with a smirk on his face and I try hard to stop myself rolling my eyes. She's beautiful, and he's a guy. What more is there to say?

They start up a conversation about the showers, I think. I decide it's easier to blank them out – we used to do this in peacekeeper training as an exercise against distractions. It was important to stay calm and focused.

My whole body stiffens suddenly as I think of my peacekeeper training, because now that I've found out the truth about the way in which they operate I need to try and forget them. Suddenly the comparisons between this room and the training area back home don't seem as calming anymore, and I have to force myself to ignore the similarities and focus on the other tributes.

The pair from District 4 are there, standing as far away from each other as it's possible to get in this small circle of tributes. The girl, dark haired and pale faced is surveying the other tributes, especially the male ones and I have to suppress a smirk as the boy from District 6 does a double take as he notices her.

My eyes keep roaming, because it's an easy way to distract myself from thinking about what I'm actually doing here. It doesn't quite work though, because my eyes land on the barely healed scabs on my knuckles. Both my mentors and my prep team last night were absolutely horrified when they caught sight of them, but I want to keep them as a memento from a time when I was actually able to evoke some emotions. At the moment I feel like I'm hanging in limbo – waiting to get into the arena so that I can take my revenge on Zack. But after that? I don't know if I even plan to make it back out after that's taken care of.

Eventually all of the other tributes have arrived, and I can see everyone glancing around edgily, trying to suss each other out. Well, everyone apart from the girl from District 7. She's staring absently over at the fire-starting station while a broad shouldered Capitol assistant, who announces himself as Tyrol, explains the process of the training. Apparently we get two and a half days to train, and then we'll have to show off our skills in front of the Gamemakers (this is the group of people who will be in charge of making our lives hell once we get into the arena) and then we'll receive a score which will be broadcast across the whole of Panem, and will likely affect how many sponsors we get.

A couple of the other tributes, particularly the smaller, weaker looking ones, begin biting their lips anxiously as Tyrol explains this to us. I keep a neutral expression on my face because honestly, I'm not feeling all that worried about this. Because honestly, what's the point?

Finally he releases us, and tells us we're free to us any stations we please until we get called for lunch. I stare around the room uncertainly for a moment though; I don't want to pick a station that will be flooded with other tributes, because I'm hopeless at engaging in small talk. Besides, I didn't come here to make friends. I just wanted to escape from everything that reminds me of my mum back home. So I wait as the others head off to various stations around the room.

The little girl from District 9 skips off to follow the hulky male tribute from District 4, while the pair from District 12 share a determined glance with one another before heading off to the edible plants station. Zack is sticking with Salima from District 1, I notice with dull amusement, while the awkward looking girl from District 3 claps a hand onto the shoulder of the little boy from her district.

Why is everyone already teaming up? Don't they understand what's going to happen once they get into the arena?

Once everyone else has made their selection, I head over to one of the free stations without even checking what it's offering. Turns out to be traps and snares. This could be useful, I suppose, glancing up at the intricate wires that have been carefully crafted by the instructor, who seems thrilled to have _someone _interested in his station.

I've been there for almost an hour when I feel someone standing behind me, and I instantly paste my coldest glare onto my face, hoping that whoever it is won't want to stay. It's the boy from District 9; he runs a hand through his already tousled dark hair, his green eyes sparkling with amusement for some reason. I narrow my eyes at him, and twist my head back round to examine the snare I've been working on for the past ten minutes. I just can't get the hang of it.

"I've used snares a couple of times before," the boy tells the instructor, who face lights up instantly and I bristle in annoyance. Of course, he's District 9 – hunting.

The instructor immediately starts talking the boy through some more complicated snares and I sigh, returning to my own feeble effort. I promised myself that I wouldn't care about the Games – that it was just an escape route from my past and win or lose – it didn't matter. But as I watch his nimble hands crafting a snare he's never made before almost perfectly, I feel the flare of competition grow within my stomach. At peacekeeper training, I'd hated it when anyone was better than me, and it's certainly no different now. I grit my teeth and try and copy the snare.

"Let me help," I jump slightly as I realise that he's talking to me and I keep my eyes focused on my work, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation with any of these people. But he doesn't give up that easily and tries to take the snare out of my hands.

I yank it back away from him, "I'm fine, thanks," I mutter in a low voice, still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm Griffin, by the way," _What do you want from me? _He's still standing there with his hands outstretched, waiting for me to hand over my pitiful attempt at the snare. I'm still trying to ignore him and concentrate on what I'm doing, but I can't stand it when someone is watching me, and my hands are shaking for some reason.

I jerk my head upwards impatiently, "Can I help you with something?" I demand furiously.

His lips turn upwards, and I realise that he's laughing at me. Was he just trying to provoke me by hovering over me like that? "I thought I was the one helping you?"

I watch him incredulously. No one ever talks to me like; makes jokes with me and laughs at me. I've made sure that everyone back home feels intimidated by me – I had a goal that I was going to achieve, and everyone had known that I hadn't cared what I'd had to do to make that happen. I guess that goal's obsolete now, but I didn't think that my persona was. I never engage in conversation with anyone, and all I ask is that no one tries to start one up with me. Griffin clearly needs to be made aware of my rules.

"I said I was fine, thank you. I don't need your help."

"Really?" the smile is back on his face, "because that's completely wrong you know." I stare at him suspiciously, not understanding why he keeps trying to talk to me.

I dump the snare down onto the table, and turn away from the station. This encounter has set my blood boiling in a way that I haven't experienced for a while.

I force my eyes back to the grazes on my knuckles, and hold a picture of mum in my mind. I can't let myself forget her – I'm worried that once I do, I really will have nothing left to live for. After all; my mind keeps telling me that it doesn't care whether I win or lose this thing. I twist my hand through my hair, almost wrenching it from the roots. As long as I can feel pain, then I'll still feel alive. I just don't know how to make myself care anymore.

I spend the rest of the time before lunch swinging a mace against the practice dummies; I'm aware that it's a complete waste of time because I already know perfectly well how to use a mace, but I need to do something that's mindless and mechanical, because I don't want to start exploring my own thoughts again.

The bell goes for lunch, and I'm reminded of school back home. I never had anyone to sit with then either, and the way that most people already seem to have settled into groups and alliances makes me realise that I probably won't have a lunch companion today either. Not that I want one anyway; everyone's joking and laughing, and trying to pretend like they're not really scared about what's going to happen to them.

I grab a plate from the buffet, and pile my plate high; it can't hurt to put on a little bit of weight now because, judging by my snares, I won't be catching much food once I actually get into the arena.

I've just sat down and am staring despondently at my plate when there's a thump opposite me. It takes me several moments to register that someone has just chosen to sit at my table. I raise my head, fully intending to glare at whoever it is until they leave, but then I see who it is, and I stiffen.

"Me again," he says, with a shrug of his shoulder, "hope you don't mind, but I didn't think that I would be welcome at anyone else's table."

I ignore him again; hoping that he'll get the message and stop trying to talk to me.

"So, made any alliances yet?" I sigh; he's obviously not planning on giving up any time soon.

"Nope," I tell him, popping my lips on the "p" which makes him laugh for some reason. Although, from what I've seen of him today, everything seems to make him laugh so I don't know if he actually needs much of a reason. I never understand people like this, and since what happened to my mum, I'm finding it even harder to like jokers. It's a surprisingly difficult to make yourself smile when you don't really feel like it.

"Lien seems to have made plenty of friends already," he says, sounding vaguely amused (as always). I glance round despite myself, and find that he's looking at the little dark haired girl from his district. He's right; she's sitting with the blonde haired rock from District 4, and the boy from District 8 who fights like he's desperate. There are several other groups of people; some who I noticed earlier; Salima and Zack for example. But the pair from District 12 seem to have joined up with the tributes from District 3.

"There's plenty of space," I point out suddenly, my voice sounding dull even to my own ears. I'm actually quite annoyed with the fact that he sat at _my _table when there's so much space everywhere else, but I can't seem to express it.

"Fine," he says, "maybe I wanted to apologise for earlier. I realise that I was getting on your nerves, and I'm sorry."

I glance up at him in surprise; no one ever says sorry to me, and I never really expect it either. I never accept apologies anyway – and there's certainly no point in him apologising to me now; we'll be facing each other in the arena in just a few days. What's the point in niceties now?

He's watching me, as though he expects something from me and I just stare back blankly. What does this boy want with me?

**Yari Meadows, District 11**.

I sigh heavily, leaning my hand onto my hands. I clearly picked the wrong table to sit at; I've been shadowing Flint all day, merely because I thought she'd be the most entertaining.

Turns out that I was wrong. The girl is completely unfocused. The only time she ever listens is when you call her Ceylon rather than Flint. She snaps into reality, yells for a few minutes, and then her eyes glaze over again.

I can't prank someone who wouldn't even notice.

My eyes scan the room, trying to decide who I should prank instead. Then my eyes land on the small girl from District 3. There's something about her pale skin which suggests that she blushes easily. I can't help feeling that she'd make quite a good victim.

Hmm, but what should I do? It's need to be something epic, something that will make me stick in the heads of the other tributes and let them know that I'm a serious threat after all. They've been given me pitying looks all throughout the morning, especially the girls.

I mean, I know that I look quite short and I'm not exactly a muscle machine like some of these other guys, but it doesn't matter. Because in the end, brains are going to win this thing, rather than brawn, and that works in my favour.

I'm still watching the girl from District 3 as we wander back into the training room as lunch ends. She's fairly plain looking; in fact, none of these girls are worth a second glance, apart from District 4. Sasha.

I've never really been that interested in girls – they just get all freaked out by anything gross, and it must be exhausting to actually date one of them. My mum's such a downer – why would I wish that upon myself?

But she really is something else. She had all the guys, apart from me, twisted around her little finger before she even said a word.

I shake my head, and think back over my plan. I need something good...

I head over to the knife station, and watch as the guy from District 10 flings knives effortlessly into the target. I wince slightly at each one that imbeds itself into the practice dummy. After all; once we get into the arena that could easily be me.

I huff in annoyance as I watch him; he's tall and muscled just like the other male tributes. Handsome too, I guess, and I can't help wondering if anyone will actually want to sponsor me. After all, I think the female vote will be spread thinly enough amongst the other guys as it is, without adding me into the mix.

I shrug to myself; it doesn't matter. I don't need sponsors to get me back home. I just need to think of Kean and Harry's faces when I win. _Losers._

"What are you looking at, elf-boy?" the hulking tribute suddenly demands, angering flaring in his eyes as he surveys me.

I feel a slight thrill of terror rush through me, but I quickly suppress it. I live for fear and adrenaline; it's what makes the time pass by. I narrow my eyes at him, "Don't call me _elf-boy," _I tell him in a low voice, "I'm not a _fucking _elf."

He drops the knife to the floor, and I can feel the eyes of every single other tribute in the room flick over towards us. I'm determined not to lose face. I need to prove to the rest of them that I'm capable of doing this.

"Really?" he asks lightly, "because you're about the size of one."

_You've gone one too far now._

I shove him as I hard I can; my anger bubbling over and fuelling my limbs as I remember all the times people have called me "elf," and teased my because of my height. Wasn't this the reason that I had volunteered?

I've obviously chosen the wrong tribute to pick a fight with though, because something within this boy snaps and he launches himself at me, causing a muted yelp to escape from me as his fist collides with my stomach.

I start falling to the ground, but I am a quick kick at his shins to ensure that at least he'll fall down with me.

A growl wrenches itself from between his teeth and I scrabble to my feet desperately, determined that he's not going to beat me in this.

I can hear the attendants yelling at us – the fact that this is against the rules only makes me smirk. Rules have never really bothered me.

As he clambers to his own feet, I feel his fist ram into my face.

_Damn, that hurt._

I only remember jumping towards him, and swinging my fists in his direction before everything goes black.

When my eyes snap open again I'm lying flat on my back; there's complete silence in the training hall, and I suppress a groan of humiliation when I realise that everyone must be focused on me.

Rough breathing comes from one side of me, and I realise that the boy from District 10 is on the floor beside me. I'm betting I didn't actually knock him unconscious, but still – I knocked him _down!_ That's good enough for me!

I spring to my feet – I'll look like I'm the winner if I'm the first one to stand back up – and glance back down at him.

"Idiot," he mutters before standing back up and stretching his limbs.

The attendants are watching us with furious expressions on their faces, but I couldn't care less. After a morning of behaving just averagely on the stations, I have finally gained my reputation as a fighter. Maybe this will teach the others not to pity me.

I glance around the hall, but most of the others have gone back to their various training stations. Still, I doubt they can deny that they're impressed.

In this environment, you have to do something big to get noticed. This, coupled with the magnificent prank that I'm planning, will certainly get me lodged in their heads as someone not to mess with. As someone strong.

I head back over to the knife station, which the boy has now abandoned – so, looks like I won the territory as well – and absently chuck a knife in the direction of the dummy.

It sticks! _Haha._

The time drags slowly on as I continue to throw knives at the targets, and I try to think up the prank to end all pranks.

We only have an hour left when inspiration suddenly strikes me, and I scan the room to make sure I'll actually be able to carry it out, and my eyes light up as I see which station the girl from District 3 is currently occupied with.

There are a couple of chairs sitting at various places around the room, and I take the one nearest to the station. With a surreptitious glance around me to make sure that no one's watching me, I bend down and my fingers quickly find the bolt that joins the leg to the chair. I do this kind of thing all the time at home, so it doesn't take me very long, with the help of the knife which I _forgot _to give back and my nimble fingers, to loosen off the bolts on the two back legs of the chair.

I return the knife as easily as I managed to steal it. These Capitol folk are so easy to fool.

I shunt the chair over to the camouflage station, under the pretext that I'm simply moving it out of harm's way. I even get a grateful smile off the instructor. Wow, it's even easier to trick them than it is to fool mum.

The girl shoots a shy smile in my direction, and carries on drawing patterns onto her arm. I watch her for a moment – she's surprisingly good at it, but I don't know how useful camouflage will really be once we get into the arena.

Ok, time to initiate Mission Epic Humiliation.

I reach over to the paint trays, dipping my fingers idly into some of them and swirl some colours onto to my wrists. Then, I lean over oh-so casually, and just _accidentally _knock one of the trays onto the floor. But not just onto the floor, onto the girl's shoes.

She jumps as the paint splatters over her feet and she glances up at me in clear annoyance, "Ugh, it's gone everywhere."

Cue innocent little boy mode. The only time my face ever comes in useful.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim loudly; I need to catch the attention of the other tributes if this plan is really going to live up to its potential, "I'm so clumsy."

"It doesn't matter," she says with a sigh.

I lean towards the instructor, "do you have a cloth or something?"

He hands one over with a wide smile. Yep that's right, I'm just so helpful...

"Why don't you sit down and clean your feet up?" I tell her, pressing the cloth into her hands with a smile to show how sorry I am.

She shoots me a grateful glance and sits down on the chair.

The few moments before the chair finally gives way are quite possibly the best moments of my entire life. Filled with suspense and anticipation. I placed the chair extra carefully, and I know exactly what's going to happen when it finally collapses.

The moments after the legs begin to buckle seem to move comically slowly. The girl's face suddenly twists in terror as she realises that she's falling.

Her arms and legs start flailing wildly and chair starts to fall backwards.

There's a resounding SMASH that echoes through the training hall, silencing everyone else, who then all turn in the direction of the noise.

And then they all spot the girl from District 3 who's lying at the centre of what looks like a massive explosion of colour. Her face is covered in yellow paint – which is kind of a shame because it's harder to read her expression that way – and her hair is coated in a horrible greasy substance.

I have to work hard to keep myself from laughing because this is, without a doubt, the best prank that I have ever pulled. If only my friends had been here to see this one; they'll never believe it when I tell them about it.

The girl from District 12, District 3's ally comes rushing over amidst the shocked silence of the other tributes and helps the girl to her feet. I smirk aa the attendants start to rush over, brandishing all kinds of cleaning supplies. The paint is dripping down her body, and she's shaking.

A vague feeling of remorse tries to push its way to the surface of my mind, but I quickly suppress it. I need any advantage over the other tributes that I can get, and her confidence should hopefully be knocked by this.

Unfortunately, this plan of mine doesn't really seem to have worked. The other tributes just cast sympathetic glances in her direction and then go back to their training. Not even one single titter – surely it merits that? I mean, the girl looks absolutely ridiculous!

"You did that, didn't you?" a gruff voice from behind me suddenly demands, and I spin around to find myself staring into the blue eyes of the guy from District 12. He might not be as tall as the others, but his broad shoulders make me feel threatened.

"You can't prove anything," I say lightly, not wanting to meet his eyes in case he reads the lie in mine.

"Well, you seem to be the kind of boy who is at the centre of any kind of trouble."

_That's exactly what I am, _I think, feeling somewhat proud that perhaps I have gained the reputation that I wanted after all.

"I certainly wouldn't want to be you – after all, I don't think that quality is going to come in all that helpful once we get into the arena."

He turns away, and leaves me watching his retreating back, wondering if he actually might have a point. What have I opened myself up for?

* * *

_I probably won't be able to update again until next weekend, because I have a busy weekend/week ahead of me._

Question: What song are these lyrics from - I heard the sad sound of words, spoken from a beak of a wise old bird?

You can still answer the question from the last chapter, because it hasn't been up very long. So remember to keep voting.


	13. The Training: Day Two I

**Kelby Fuse, District 5**.

I keep up an inane chatter as we take the elevator down to the training centre. I think that Kale's getting pretty sick of me by now; every time I open my mouth I see him roll his eyes slightly. But as long as I keep talking, I don't actually have to think about where I am, and that makes this whole thing so much easier.

My nightmares have come back again; ever since I arrived here I've been seeing that day over and over again in my mind. I'd had dreams like that the whole time that I was pregnant, but once Kelz was born I hadn't let myself be afraid anymore because I'd had someone else that I needed to look after and support.

But now, in the immediate face of the arena and the Games, my nightmares have returned with a vengeance, and I haven't had a decent night's sleep since I left the Capitol. I push my hair off my face; I feel awful and I know that appearance is everything to these Capitol people, which doesn't make me feel any better.

The elevator _dings_ suddenly, and Kale and I stumble out, heading towards the training centre. Yesterday I tried to stay close to Kale, hoping for some moral support from my District partner, but he seemed to get fed up with me, and I didn't want to push myself on him. But it's left me with a bit of a dilemma; because there seem to be quite a few people who are already bonding together into alliances and I don't want to be the only isolated one.

Although, I suppose after what happened yesterday that the boy from District 11 won't exactly be overwhelmed with applicants to ally with him.

I smile broadly at the other tributes as we enter the room, but I know immediately from their hostile expressions that this was the wrong thing to do. I can't help it though; this just happens to be the way that I greet people. Especially after falling pregnant – I just don't believe that there's much point in going around being miserable all the time.

Although I do appreciate that this is hardly the place to be feeling over-the-moon happy, if I've only got a few days left, then I don't want to spend them miserable and hating everyone around me.

Kale and I turn out to be the last ones there, and so it gives me the chance to see who is actually allied with one another. I can't help but sigh as I see how many people are actually teamed up; it makes me feel isolated and uncertain. Perhaps allying with someone would make things harder in the long run, but I would definitely like the security that it offers.

Tyrol announces that we need to make the best possible use out of our last full day of training, and everyone immediately dispatches to the different stations, clearly organised strategies.

I don't think our mentors are particularly attentive because they certainly haven't given us any specific advice about what we should be doing during training. I mentioned that my dad trained me with swords and wires during the rebellion, to prepare me in case anything happened, and they just told me not to flaunt my skills in front of the other tributes and to keep it a secret until the scoring in front of the Gamemakers.

So yesterday I visited all of the survival skills stations. That's the area of this thing which scares me the most; I know I'm strong enough, and probably determined enough, to win a fight against someone, even if the idea does repulse me, but my dad is fairly well off and so I've never really needed to worry about where my next meal was coming from, because there was always someone who I knew would be keeping me alive.

But the arena will be like nothing I have ever experienced before; I'll have to fend for myself and that scares me more than the actual fighting aspect of the Hunger Games.

It's just that ever since I fell pregnant with Kelz, I've felt so responsible for looking after my body because it had an impact on his life as well. And it feels wrong knowing that in just a few days I won't be able to look after myself anymore.

I sigh, and a shudder runs through me as my mind forces me to think about Kelz. I know that he'll be perfectly happy and safe, with my dad and Fern taking care of him. But I miss the feel of him in my arms, and I miss falling asleep with the soft sound of his breathing filling the air in my bedroom.

I shake my head, and force myself to step brightly over to the poisonous plants stand. I had visited it briefly yesterday and while I remember most of the different plants, there were some which were still eluding me, and I wanted to make sure that I had all the knowledge I could possible amass in these three short days of training.

The little girl from 11 is already standing there, leafing through a book and examining the various plants. She starts violently as I stand beside, and she spins around to look at me, her eyes filled with terror.

I give her a gentle smile; she looks so harmless and fragile – I can't believe that this poor little girl will be forced to fight for her life in just a matter of days. "I'm Kelby," I tell her, trying to smile reassuringly at her so that she doesn't get jumpy and leave, "what's your name?" I put on my best _talking to a scared child voice – _the one I use on Kelz when he keeps crying and won't go to sleep.

"I'm Chall," she mutters, keeping her eyes trained determinedly on the book.

"Do you want me to give you a hand with that? I visited this stand yesterday, and I think I can remember most of them," I ask her.

She just shakes her head, "I'm actually quite confident with most of them already," she says, glancing up at me uncertainly. She obviously thinks she shouldn't have mentioned her strength to a potential enemy.

"Oh really? Maybe you can give me some help then."

"We have a lot of these plants back in District 11," she tells me shyly, but I can see that she's proud to have been asked for help by someone older than she is. I remember now that 11 is the agriculture district; of course she'd be familiar with a lot of these plants.

I spend the morning chattering away to her as we move on from the edible plants stand, to the archery stand; we both have a good laugh at this because we're fairly useless. Then we hit the climbing stand.

The boy from District 9 is scrambling up the climbing wall like he has suction pads on his feet or something. I glance upwards at him in awe as he scales the massive wall easily. I glance sideways at Chall, who gives me a slightly rueful look.

Then I glance to my other side, and see the blonde haired girl from District 2 surveying the wall with distaste. I noticed yesterday that they'd visited all of the same stands yesterday afternoon, and the boy had certainly been staring at her during the chariot rides. But it seems like a bit of an unlikely alliance to me.

She notices me staring at her, and wheels around, stomping off towards another stand, and I have to work hard to suppress a smile. I've never really had that problem of losing my temper, because I've never really seen the point of being angry.

"You want to have a go?" I ask Chall, who is watching the boy with a nervous expression plastered onto her face.

She shakes her head uncertainly, "I climb trees back home sometimes. But I've never climbed a wall before. Have you?"

I shake my head; if I'm being really honest, then I'd have to admit that ever since Kelz was born I haven't really spent much time outside. You know, without having a pram to push around.

"That's why we need to try it though, right?" I've realised that we can probably pick up clues about the arena from the training stands that we've been given.

For example, the climbing practice is a wall, rather than a tree. So perhaps the arena will contain mountains, rather than a forest. And I'm sure if I had more knowledge about plants, then I'd probably be able to work out what kind of environment it might be from the plants that we had seen on the stand.

Chall and I are quickly harnessed up, and she's off, scrambling up the wall almost as quickly as the boy from 9. I can't help but laugh; I'm now a liability to a twelve year old girl.

I try to grip my fingers into the various cracks, or the parts of the wall which jut outwards, but I can't seem to find any purchase for my hands.

The instructor comes over to me, and attempts to demonstrate what I should be doing.

"It's pointless," I tell him finally, "I just can't get it." I know that I should be strong enough to climb up that wall, but I'm certainly not agile enough. That's never really been my strong point.

He frees me from the harness, and I wave up at Chall who is watching me from the top of the wall. I don't feel too disheartened though, because everyone has strong and weak points. Climbing a wall clearly just isn't one of my strong points. I'm feeling quite tempted to go and use the swords, just to prove to anyone who saw me fail at that that I'm not completely useless. But then I remember the advice of my mentors.

I'm just making my way over to the knife throwing stand when a girl trips up in front of me. It's the one from 7 who almost fell out of her chariot during the procession.

She glances at me in confusion as I help her up off the ground; she doesn't really even seem to be registering the fact that I am there.

"Are you alright?" I ask her anxiously, "you went right down on your face, and I know that I'm not exactly a doctor, but I don't think that can lead to any great consequences. I mean, you might have concussion, or something. Or-" I cut myself off quickly because I'm rambling like I always do when I'm feeling awkward. Just as am feeling now under the searching gaze of this girl.

"Your hair looks like fire," she says, a panicked expression washing over her face and she scrambles backwards, trying to escape from my grasp on her arms.

"I guess. It's natural though," I tell her quickly; maybe she looks so worried because she thinks I'm like one of these Capitol people. Who dye both their hair and their skin, "everyone always tells me that it looks like I've dyed it. But I honestly haven't. It's from my mother's side, actually." I stop talking and try to prevent myself thinking about my mum.

Though I can't help but wonder how she felt when she saw me get reaped. I told the peacekeepers that I didn't want to see her, and so they didn't let her come and say goodbye. I'm still not sure if I regret doing that, but all I know is that I'm still not ready to forgive her. But maybe if this arena kills me then I'll wish that I'd got the opportunity to grant her my forgiveness.

The girl is still looking at me like a frightened rabbit; her eyes are wide and she's adopted a defensive stance. I can hear her muttering, "Fire.." continuously under her breath.

It doesn't take me long to decide that she's a bit of a lost cause, and I turn my back on her. Instantly though, I hate myself for doing that. She looks just as helpless as Chall does, and I can't completely suppress the feeling that overwhelms my body, and compels me to turn back around. The feeling of protection; I want to help her because she certainly can't help herself.

She's still standing in the same position that I left her in. Her eyes scanning the rest of the room; seeming utterly confused as if she has absolutely no clue what's going on.

_Don't do it, Kelby, _I tell myself. _Don't let your maternal instincts take over again; you're already allied with a twelve year old girl. You don't need this absent minded one as well._

I can't help myself from taking her arm, and dragging her over to the knife throwing stand with me.

_Why am I doing this?_

_

* * *

_I didn't have much time to write anything this weekend; there were supposed to be two other tributes in this chapter... So hopefully I'll do the afternoon of this training day some time during this week. I'm not promising anything though ;)

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

Question: Name the five main characters from "Misfits" (english tv series). I'm just slightly obsessed with it at the moment :)


	14. The Training: Day Two II

**Flint, District 7**.

My eyes flicker around the room, dancing across the different tributes gathered there. I don't like it down here – where there are no windows and so you can't see the clouds.

I watch the girl with the fiery red hair for a moment, as she gnaws on her lip in concentration. The knife leaves her hand, and sticks into the wall beside the target. I close my eyes and imagine the red of her hair spreading throughout the room, flames licking their way up the walls; my body tenses in fear and I force my eyes back open.

I should've learned by now that remembering what happened won't get me anywhere. "Look, it stuck!" The girl exclaims eagerly, spinning back around to look at me. "Ceylon, did you see?"

My jaw clenches as a rush of anger overwhelms me. Haven't they learned by now? _My name isn't Ceylon Touramaline. _Not anymore.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, and remember the day that Garnet took me to the park back home, and I had lain in the grass all day, just watching the clouds.

When I jerk them open again, I find the girl surveying me with an anxious expression pasted onto her face. I've seen this expression on Garnet and Opal's faces before – pity, is what it is. Sometimes I just want to stretch out my hand, and wipe that expression off their faces. But then they would only pity me more, and so it's easier to force a wide smile onto my face and allow them to pity me.

"It's Flint," I tell her brightly. "Like the rock."

"Oh yeah," her eyes light up in understanding, "that's what our roof back home is made out of. I think anyway. Or maybe it just used to be made out of flint. I'm not quite sure because I-"

I distract myself from her rambling by glancing back at the rings of the target. The colours; bright blues and yellows, are tantalisingly bright, and they draw me in. I stare, mesmerised at the colours that seem to blend into one another and then they change. Where the blue and yellow fuzz together, a bright emerald green emerges.

_Emerald. _The word instantly conjures up bright images within my mind. I see a woman with soft brown hair, and deep green eyes that explain her name. I see her curled at the end of my bed, her lips forming the words of my favourite bedtime story.

Happy memories are always bright and shiny. But I know that a bad one is coming when everything turns dark, and the shadows lengthen and conjure up strange shapes that are so at odds with the ones that I am able to spot amongst the clouds.

The memories bouncing around in my mind are growing darker now. I remember my mother on the floor at the feet of my father, begging him not to hurt us anymore. Tears rolling down her cheeks and...

"Cey-Flint?"

I push the onslaught of memories back inside of me, and force myself to concentrate on the girl who is talking to me.

The Fire Girl holds out a knife in front of her, and I take an automatic step backwards, believing that she's threatening me.

But then I take a look into her eyes. They don't seem dangerous, not like some of the wild animals that I used to come across in the forest. They're wide and friendly. Then I realise; she wants me to have a go.

I take the knife from her, my hands clenching around the handle – it's a familiar feeling for my hand, I'm used to using knives.

I spin around to face the target – those colourful rings still pulling me in and making me feel dizzy. The rest of the world lurches disconcertingly as I focus on the target. Then, I pull back my arm and hurl the knife at the target.

Fire Girl gasps in astonishment as it sticks right in the tiny red centre of the target and she grins at me in approval. I'm not too sure what she's so impressed about; I mean, it was a big target and I'm more than used to being able to hit tiny tree stumps with knives like this one.

My eyes flicker back over to the mesmerising rings of colour. "Can you do that again?" Fire Girl demands eagerly.

I nod my head, "of course," I tell her brightly, "It's really not that hard." I'm not too sure why she's insisting on hanging around me. I'm not a person who makes friends all that easily and there's certainly no point in trying too hard right now.

I'm still not entirely sure what the concept of the Hunger Games really is, but I'm certain that I heard the word 'killing' mentioned somewhere in the explanation and I don't really think that's the best environment to try and be forging friendships in.

I tilt my head sideways and survey the station, "don't you think they look like eyes?" I ask Fire Girl, gesturing towards the two targets and envisaging them on a huge fanged monster. Garnet once sketched a picture of a 'sea serpent' that had eyes just like this.

Wide, hypnotising eyes that try to drag you in.

I shake my head to distract myself from thinking like this.

Fire Girl is stuttering nervously, clearly completely confused by what I've just said to her. However, the little sparrow-like girl who has just come over to join us smiles as me widely. "I see, they could be eyes. And that knife stand could be the nose."

So it could, I hadn't noticed that before. Of course, the addition of the nose makes the creature in my head look more friendly than scary. But maybe that's better. I don't need anything else to scare me in this place.

I'm already making a list of the scary things that I've seen since I arrived at the Capitol:

- _The fanged monster with hypnotic eyes. Although maybe that should be taken off the list now that it turns out not to be scary at all._

_- My stylist who has whiskers. At first I thought it looked quite interesting. But there was something about her movements that was all together too feline. She's a human._

_- The cat who I spotted wandering the Capitol streets. It had a definite look of my stylist about it, and I wondered if it was actually her. Checking up on me to make sure that I hadn't ruined her costume. Which I had, of course._

_- The boy from District 4. Because he kind of reminds me of my father. With the blond hair, and now I can't look him in the eye. Not that I would be able to anyway; he's pretty huge._

And that's all. It's not too long a list, all things considered. Right now I'm more scared about what's actually going to happen once we get into the arena.

"So," Fire Girl stutters nervously, bringing me back to the present with a jolt, "we're allies now, right?"

I glance over at her in confusion. Firstly, I don't understand why she would want to ally with anyone; I've seen people dividing themselves up into groups for the past few days and it's setting my nerves on edge. Secondly, why would she want to ally with _me? _I've seen the looks that the other tributes have been giving me. Especially that elf-like boy who was following me around yesterday. I had determinedly kept my mouth zipped tightly shut to avoid giving him the satisfaction of being able to laugh at me.

I get distracted for a moment considering the idea of what it would be like to actually have a zip for a mouth. _Zip lips. _I think how much Garnet would've appreciated being able to just zip up my mouth whenever I started talking.

I don't realise that I've laughed out loud at the image of myself with zips for lips until I spot Fire Girl and Sparrow watching me with puzzled expressions on their faces.

I try and think back to what Fire Girl had asked me before the image of a metal mouth had taken over my mind. "Umm," I falter slightly, my eyes flickering between them as I desperately cast my mind back.

Sparrow gives a chirpy laugh and says, "Allies, or not?"

Oh, that's right. Fire Girl had asked me if I'd wanted to team up with the pair of them.

Fire Girl and Sparrow; I wonder what my name will be if I decide to ally with them. I'm just not sure if it's that good of an idea. I guess it would be good to have some company in that arena though, and I don't think that I care that much about either of them that I wouldn't be able to kill them if push came to shove.

I shrug, "I'm in, I guess."

I push my dark hair out from my eyes and watch my new allies as they try to decide whether they just made a good decision or not. They were probably hoping that I would say no.

I turn away, and dance off in the direction of the camouflage station where the girl from District 12 is standing. She smiles at me sweetly as I approach and stare in amazement at rainbow of coloured paints that are presented before me. "I'm Rivka," she tells me, extending her hand like she expects something from me.

Something about the gesture rings a bell in my memory; something that I remember vaguely from my past perhaps. But I can't quite work out what I'm supposed to do. I stare back at her blankly, my eyes flickering from her hand to her face, and then back again.

"You're supposed to shake it," she says patiently, and I can hear the smile within her voice.

I extend my hand warily, and she grips it tightly with her own. "I'm Flint," I tell her suddenly, because I realise that I haven't offered my name yet. Names aren't really my strong point, hence Fire Girl and Sparrow. Even though I know that they've both told me their names.

Already my concentration is waning, and I'm finding it hard to remember what she said her name was.

I dip my fingertips into the dark green paste that sits on the station. I smile as I swirl my fingers around in it, and I can almost picture the trees of the forest back home.

The girl beside my sticks her hand into a bowl of bright red berry juice and I glance up at her, astonished by the way in which the juice stains her hand bright red.

"The stuff that Olive fell into yesterday still hasn't washed off," she tells me, also staring at her hand with deep thoughtful eyes, "so I thought it might come in useful in the arena. If it's that long lasting. But then I doubt there will be that many places which are bright red once we get into the arena."

I giggle as I consider the idea of being thrust into a completely red arena. The trees would be red. The animals would be red.

_Red._

The colour suddenly fills up my vision and I can feel my heart pumping violently within my chest.

Red; the colour of Fire Girl's hair.

Red; the fire that licked its way into my house. The fire that destroyed my home.

Red; blood. The time I cut my knee open. The time my father hit my mum so hard that blood trickled from her nose.

Red; arena.

The whole world has gone red and I can't breathe.

It's taking over my mind, and staining the whole world scarlet.

My feet take off before I can do anything to stop them and I'm sprinting to the door of the training centre.

I need to get out of this windowless room before it completely fills up with red.

Before I drown in it.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

Question: Name two of Phoebe's songs from Friends. :)

**BONUS. ** There are currently three tributes who have no votes. One point per tribute that you guess correctly.


	15. The Training: Day Two III

**Misha Rolansky, District 10.**

My toes wriggle against the unfamiliar leather of my shoes. My mentor forced me into them yesterday morning, because apparently it isn't appropriate to go around in bare feet all of the time.

Doesn't she know how much noise shoes make?

I suppress the wave of anger that threatens to grow in my stomach every time I think of my overly preened, vain mentor who swans around thinking she's the be all and end all of beautiful people. I don't really get these Capitol fashions myself. Certainly not the part where bare feet are somehow inappropriate.

I'm distracted from my internal musings about the merits of bare feet when the girl from seven suddenly pushes her way past me. Her chest is heaving with huge sobs.

Silence settles over the tributes as we watch her wrench the door of the training centre open and she disappears outside.

It only takes about five seconds before the peacekeepers are on her trail. They were already here when we arrived this morning, leaning casually against the wall and surveying us with distaste.

My stomach twists in fury as I consider the idea that it was peacekeepers who murdered my father, and therefore I hold them to blame for destroying my whole family.

I actually have my fists clenched, and my feet are preparing to take the first step towards them when I finally reign my anger back in. I only have myself to blame for them being positioned around the room. Well myself, and that idiot from District 11 who had lost it yesterday.

I spin around now, my eyes trying to locate him in the grey gloom of the training centre.

I know I shouldn't have let him drag me into a fight with him, but even now the sight of his stupid little face sets my blood boiling and my heart racing.

From the moment I was reaped, I had known that I only had one choice; to make it out of the arena alive, and rescue Lena from the orphanage. But then I had seen the other tributes, and there are some who look so young and fragile – I had known in my heart that I couldn't kill defenceless people.

But then district 11 came along, and sparked my anger to an all time high. Then I had started noticing the bad in people; the reasons for killing them. Now my job doesn't seem so hard anymore and I paste a smirk onto my face, in the hope that I might intimidate the other tributes.

I turn back to the archery station, trying to push the idiotic little boy from 11 from my memory. I jump as I come face to face with the young girl from my district; Niah.

I've been avoiding her ever since we were both reaped. There's something about her soft blonde hair and green eyes that makes me think of Lena. Maybe this is what she will grow up to look like. But maybe I won't get to see it.

_Giving up already?_ The voice inside my head demands and my hands begin to shake violently.

The voice makes me want to screw up my eyes and clasp my hands against my ears. But I don't think that would make any difference because the voice is inside me. It's like a poison, sapping my strength and fuelling my anger whenever I think about her.

Ignoring Niah is much easier than having to talk to her and pretend that the sight of her doesn't make me want to hurt everyone in the room if it will give me the chance to see Lena again.

She doesn't let me turn away from her though, "Have you made any allies yet?" she asks me, with dull eyes that tell me that no one has asked to team up with her.

I just shake my head, and let my fingers run along the smooth wood of a prestigious looking bow. I've never seen one like this before; it's polished and swirled patterns are carved into the wood. My bow back home is rough and misshapen. I had made it myself.

"Why not?" Niah asks, obviously determined not to let this conversation come to an end. Why doesn't anyone understand that all I want is to be left alone? I don't need to converse with people, or pretend to be friendly with someone. We're all here to fight with one another, and I don't need to act like I have any other goal except to win. I'm not here to make friends; I'm here to fight and get home to Lena. So no one will ever be able to take her away from me again.

I whirl back round to her, my eyes blazing with annoyance. I can't suppress my disgust with the whole idea of the Games, but I also can't suppress my revulsion with these tributes that are getting all smarmy and friendly with each other. I don't envy them the ease with which they make new friends, because it's only going to cause them pain in the long run.

"Because I don't want any," I snap impatiently, narrowing my eyes at her in the hope that she'll get the message and leave me alone.

"I was only asking," she mutters mutinously under her breath and she stalks away from the station still grumbling away to herself. I laugh lightly, and position my hands on the bow. The string grazes my cheek as I pull it back, getting a feel for the strain of the bow.

I pick up an arrow and slot it into place against the bow. I breathe in deeply, my lungs missing the smell of wood smoke that I've come to associate with using a bow. I draw the string back and it snaps free with a satisfying _twang _as I release the arrow. It hurtles towards the target and sticks right in the middle. The trainer gives me an impressed look.

_Looking for approval from them now, are you?_

_You're pathetic._

My heart begins to race so fast in my chest that I'm almost worried that it's going to burst out of me completely.

Blood surges within my veins and I can feel the blackness rising within me. I try desperately to suppress it, because I can't lose my head again.

The voice is right though; I am pathetic. Because I had felt a rush of pride when I had seen the trainer eyeing me like that. I shouldn't care about what these Capitol people think of me, especially not after they've destroyed my life so thoroughly.

I channel my anger through the bow, sending arrow after arrow towards the target until the training session ends.

* * *

I stumble back to the elevator once the bell rings to signal the end of the day. My brow is slicked in sweat because I've discovered that physical exertion is the best way to quell my anger.

Still, it hasn't worked completely because I can't stop my stomach from twisting as the boy from District 11 steps into my elevator with a smirk spread across his stupid face.

I suppress a groan, and focus my attention on the wall opposite me, trying to ignore the stupid popping noises that he's making with his tongue. After about thirty seconds of this I spin round to him, watching his face in fury. It's clear from his expression that he's doing it on purpose; he wants to get me riled up again.

_Well, it's working, isn't it?_

It's not working. I don't care, he can go on making those noises for as long as he wants to.

My clenching fists tell him otherwise though, and the level of the noise increases, until it's bouncing around the lift.

It seems to be boring into my brain and my hands ache to cover up my ears.

_So pathetic. Getting worked up for no reason. This is why they took Lena away from you; because you're not safe. You might hurt her._

"I'd never hurt her. Never."

I don't realise that I've spoken aloud until I notice him watching me with a confused expression on his face.

"What do you want?" I snap finally, frustrated that he's heard me speak like that. No one is supposed to know that I have a weakness.

He just gives a jaunty little shrug and, thankfully, stops making the stupid noises.

By the time I reach my floor, I'm about ready to pass out in exhaustion. A headache is beginning to throb at my temples, and I wonder if I can ask for painkillers. Is that within my rights as a tribute?

I spot an Avox, who stands with her back to me. I'm loath to ask any of the Avoxes for anything because the whole idea of them completely revolts me. It's not just the thought of the pain involved in having your tongue torn out, but more the fact that they take away your voice. In a world where everyone is repressed, your voice is the only thing that you have left, the only tool you have to truly express yourself. The Avoxes don't even have that right.

The long blonde hair that falls down this Avox's back turns my stomach. It's exactly the same shade of my hair as my mum has. I hate the idea that she'll be here, somewhere within this city and yet I'll never even get to see her. Once last chance to memorise her face would have been nice. Just in case.

"Excuse me?" I manage to stutter out. But it makes me feel guilty; talking in front of her when I know that she can't.

She turns round with slumped shoulders and dull green eyes that-

I recognise those eyes.

That face too; even if it more lined than the last time I saw it.

Her eyes show no sign of surprise; she knew that she was going to see me when she turned around.

But how..?

Then I understand, this is the Capitol we're talking about. Of course they would've ensured that my own mother was an Avox in my quarters. I wonder how I haven't seen her so far. Perhaps she was avoiding me, trying to make it less painful for me.

"Mum?" I whisper, my voice sounds confused and like I'm just a little boy again.

Her lips turn reluctantly upwards into a smile and she nods her head jerkily.

"The Capitol did this?" I ask, hoping that she understands my meaning.

She nods again, and takes a small notebook from the front pocket of her apron. She begins scribbling away on it and I take an uncertain step closer towards her so I can read what she's written.

**The President made sure that I ended up on your floor. **

I nod, I'd suspected as much. My eyes meet hers and I can read the exact same emotions within her eyes too. Confliction; predominately. Neither of us can be happy to be reunited in such circumstances, but there's still a feeling of relief blossoming inside of me. Because now I know that she's safe, and alive, even if I'd rather that she was safe and alive at home with me.

I've never been a person who expresses their emotions physically, but my arms embrace her of my own accord. She wraps her arms tightly around me, and I breathe in her familiar smell, the scent taking me back to my childhood. Nights spent beside the fire, watching her mend my clothes. Cradling Lena as she watched me proudly. Her eyes glowing with happiness as she watched me at the kitchen table.

_The table which you destroyed, _the voice reminds me brutally.

I bury my head against her shoulder, not wanting to have to remove it and be faced with the real world once again. Her fingers stroke my hair softly, the way she always did when I couldn't sleep.

I don't realise how lonely I've been lately until the sobs threaten to erupt from my chest. I've forgotten how it feels to have someone hold you. How a simple touch can take away all of your problems. I've been lacking contact with others for so long; no one around to see how isolated I had become. Family and friends were long gone, and it was only me left.

A shudder runs through my body as she envelopes me with her warmth.

I don't know how long we stand there, arms wrapped around one another, before she pulls away from me gently.

**It's dangerous**_, _she scribbles down onto the notebook, and I nod with a sigh. I don't want to put my mother in any more danger than she already is.

**Lena?** is the next thing she scrawls across the paper, and my heart stops in my chest. I had almost pushed the thought of Lena from my mind.

_Don't want to admit how much of a failure you've been?_

_You're an embarrassment. A useless waste of space. _

_You don't deserve Lena anyway. She's better off where she is. Somewhere where you can't hurt her. _

As I watch the eagerness on my mother's face, sickness rises within my throat once again and I wheel away from her, my feet pounding against the Capitol carpet as I sprint to my room.

I bang the door shut, and lock it with shaking fingers before the rage erupts out of me.

I slam my fists against the wall, my hatred with myself surging within my limbs.

The last thing I see before the anger obscures my vision is blood.

So much blood.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

Question: What are the titles of the three Hunger Games books in Germany? (they aren't literal translations). Two bonus points if you translate the german titles into english as well ;)


	16. The Training: Day Three I

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

I lean back against the wall of the elevator, trying to look casual and like I'm not completely terrified of Aaron. He's the kind of gorgeous guy that I'd usually have wrapped around my little finger in a matter of seconds and then I'd be free to discard him at any moment. My choice. But the way he moves makes my stomach clench slightly in fear; he's like some hulking great predator. I shake my head, and tear my eyes away from his broad shoulders.

I step straight into the path of Harrow, from District 12. I'll admit that he's fairly good looking, but he's definitely kind of a prude. I was talking to him for about half an hour yesterday, batting my eyelashes and touching his arm, but to no avail. He seemed more interested in those two scrawny looking girls he keeps hanging around with. Who in their right mind would prefer them over me? I'm not boasting, but I have looked in a mirror before. I know what I look like.

Not that it's doing me much good in here though. When I had first met my stylists and they had exclaimed how beautiful I was, and how easy I was making their jobs, I'd just assumed that I was in for an easy ride. I'd thought that by waving and blowing kisses to the crowd that I could win more sponsors than any other tribute and then I'd have the crown in the palm of my hand before the Games even started.

But that's the only publicity we've had since arriving here, and I'm starting to worry that I will have slipped out of the viewers minds. After all, there were other tributes who'd probably made just as much of a good impression as I had.

Aaron, for starters. I had spotted how all the Capitol girls had been looking at him, barely holding in their drool. That little girl from District 9 is utterly adorable, and completely infuriating because she's snagged the position of innocent little girl, which means I can't play it from that angle any more. There was also the beautiful blonde haired girl from District 1, who _almost _beats me in the looks department.

I sweep into the training centre, making sure to throw Aaron a scornful look as I beat him through the doorway. Ever since we arrived at the Capitol, everything had been a competition between us. Who can finish their meal the fastest, who can take the quickest shower, who can wake up the earliest.

And it's no different in the training centre. Every time I get to a training station, Aaron is about two steps behind me. Well him, and his strange collection of allies. The little girl from District 9; Lien (I have no idea what use she's going to be once they get into the arena), the boy from District 8, Kye, who's hot but he mentioned a girlfriend at some point. So I've stopped paying him that much attention. And also the guy from District 1, Rocco, who is too blunt for my liking. Anyway, he's got a pretty serious case of acne and so he's nothing much to look at.

The routine begins as normal today. I pick the wrestling station, because I know it's one that I can actually do. After having spent a lifetime working on boats, I would say that I'm pretty strong. For a girl anyway; I know that I'd have absolutely zero chance in a fight with Aaron, unless I manage to get my hands on a knife, or something.

I'm feeling slightly distracted by the Gamemakers who are surveying us much more closely today. After lunch, we'll each have a private training session in front of them. It's a chance to show off any hidden skills you might have been concealing from the other tributes (not that I actually have any) and then the scores of each tribute are broadcast across the whole of Panem. It's enough to make me feel nauseous. So far the people have only seen me as a fairly empty headed girl, and my mentors have encouraged me to keep up that image by purposefully getting a bad score. It's not in my nature to under-perform though and I don't want to embarrass myself by looking weak in front of the Gamemakers.

Aaron and his posse have just turned up as I face off with one of the trainers. She gives me a broad smile and opens her arms wide to invite me to take the advantage. I throw myself into the competition, keeping one eye on Aaron as I fight.

After I've beaten her a couple of times, I stand up and stretch out my aching limbs and smirk over at Aaron. He's still struggling against a man whose muscles are just as thick as his. Kye on the other hand has obviously beaten his trainer and is also watching Aaron.

I bat my eyelids once in Kye's direction – he looks slightly taken aback by this – and then I push past him towards the knife throwing stand. The girls from District 5 and 7 are already there, and so I paste a broad smile on my face. They certainly aren't the kind of girls I would be friends with back home; they look like they're pretty far down the social ladder, but I can't afford to be picky here. And I need to start making some friends, especially seeing as I'll have Aaron on my back once we get into the arena.

"I'm Sasha," I say brightly, grinning widely at the pair of them. Hayden's always told me that this smile makes me look friendly and open, something which I tend to try and avoid most of the time. Especially around people that I suspect I probably won't like.

"Kelby," the red haired girl says, flashing me an answering smile.

"I love your hair," I tell her, somewhat truthfully because it actually it pretty nice. She should be grateful, because I don't give out compliments easily.

It's the type of hair that I always used to fantasise about having, because it looks exactly like some of the vibrant colours that the Capitol citizens dye their hair and back then it had been my biggest goal to emulate their elegance and vivacity. Now however, with the creation of these Games, I'm not so sure that I'd want to look like one of them anymore. Not now that their very names are synonymous with cruelty.

"Oh, thanks," she looks slightly confused for a moment, probably because she's seen me being a bitch towards the other tributes, "it's natural, even though everyone always tells me that it looks dyed. But to be honest, we couldn't even afford one packet of hair dye back home, let alone enough for me to keep the colour up and-"

"I know what you mean," I say loudly, cutting her rambling off, "my friends tried to dye my hair once back home – we had to splash out on three packets because my hair's so long – and then it didn't even work on my dark hair." I laugh, trying to act like I'm completely superficial so they won't see me as too much of a threat. "My friends were so mad though, 'cos they were trying to give me a complete makeover. Have you done that back home with your friends?"

Her face instantly closes up, and I shift my feet, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the sudden change in the atmosphere. "I don't really have that many friends back home. Or any, if I'm being really honest."

For a moment I wonder if it's because they get annoyed at her when she rambles on, but then I berate myself for being so unfair. My judgemental nature is really the only thing that I'd like to change about myself.

Her green eyes seem shadowed in pain, but she doesn't seem to want to expand on her answer.

"How come? You seem perfectly nice." That's out of my mouth before I've really considered what I'm saying. I hope it doesn't come across as rude, because that's not how I intended it. Not really, anyway.

She stays silent, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. But I don't give up; I can be very patient when it comes to leeching gossip out of someone and I can smell a dramatic story in the air.

Unfortunately, fixing my usually quite persuasive stare on her and arranging my features to look sympathetic doesn't have the desired result in this instance. Kelby just shrugs her shoulders and grins broadly at me, "I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

Damn, judging from her reaction that would have been a pretty good story. This is quite a shame because today has passed in a horrifyingly boring blur. I think time has decided to whizz past me because it wants to set my teeth on edge and make me panic as the Games draws nearer.

"What are you doing?" A low voice suddenly grumbles in my ear, and I whirl round, finding myself face to face with Aaron. Who looks less than impressed with something.

"Excuse me?" I ask, injecting a note of forced politeness into my voice, because I know from experience that Aaron doesn't really like it if someone disrespects him.

I think that our mentors have learned that now too. The Jewel twins didn't particularly enjoy being sworn at.

"What are you doing?"

I glance back at him with a blank expression in my face. He hasn't deigned to talk to me so far and so I wonder why he's chosen to start now.

"Yeah, it's not that I didn't hear you," I retort snappishly, "it's just that I'm not really sure why you're asking."

Both Kelby and the girl from District 5, who throws a filthy look at Aaron from behind her dark fringe, move awkwardly away from us. They're clearly anticipating an argument which they don't particularly want to be involved in.

Aaron's jaw clenches tightly, "I'm just wondering why you were talking to those girls. I mean, from what I saw of you back in Four, you tended to avoid speaking to anyone who was," here, he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, "'below average,' looks-wise. You seem like the kind of girl who likes to surround herself with aesthetically pleasing girls. Trying to extend a charitable hand?"

I glance at him incredulously; I can't believe that he's mocking me. No one ever dares to mock me; in school I'm part of that untouchable group that no one would dare to bad mouth. My parents never tease me, not even if I do something unfathomably stupid. I cannot believe he's making fun of me.

I narrow my eyes, putting on the bitch expression that I use on some of the ugly guys at school when they attempt to flirt with me.

"Well, if I was trying to extend a charitable hand to those less fortunate in the look department then I'd be spending a lot more time trying to make you feel better, wouldn't I?" I retort viciously. It takes quite a lot of effort to get me riled up, but I'm incensed at Aaron's rudeness.

He just smirks at me, "Not the best comeback I ever heard to be honest," he tells me.

Before I have a chance to get out anything apart from furious spluttering, he has sauntered off towards the archery station.

It takes me several moments to get my infuriation with him under control, and I force myself to unclench my fists. No one ever talks to me like that!

How dare he?

I've almost started walking after him, fully intending to shout at him in front of the other tributes, before I realise that it might not be the most intelligent idea that I've ever had. I have enough self control to reign my anger back in and realise that I don't want to portray that kind of image towards the others.

I need them to see me as an air-headed girl who doesn't have enough sense to get angry about anything. If they overlook me then I might just have a chance. Well, I would have a chance if only someone else would get rid of Aaron. Because at the moment, by myself I don't really think I would last more than a few minutes going up against him.

Unless...

Maybe I don't have to go up against him by myself. I remember back to a few moments ago, and the filthy look that District 5 had given him. Surely two girls like them would be clever enough to survive in the arena, unless they have to face a huge muscle mass like Aaron. Perhaps there's some incentive there for them to want to help me.

If not, I'm sure I can convince them.

Determinedly, I step over to where they are now standing at the poisonous plant station. Kelby flashes me a sympathetic smile as I reach them and I find myself returning it easily.

I bend my head towards them, and mutter, "How would you like to help me take down Aaron?"

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _Now its decision time_, w_hich one will stay, which one will say goodbye._


	17. The Training: Day Three II

**Griffin Ashlock, District 9.**

My eyes flicker towards Samura as I release the arrow from my bow. Of course, this quick sideways glance completely throws my aim off and the arrow bounces off the wall beside the target with a dull thud.

Her face tightens in annoyance, but she doesn't make any comment about it. These past few days I've come to learn that Samura rarely expresses her emotions, preferring to keep her face blank and pretend that she doesn't feel anything at all.

Of course, this is simply from observation, because trying to draw conversation out of her is like trying to draw blood from a rock.

The arrow that she releases hits the target almost dead centre, but she shows no sign that she's impressed by what she managed to do.

"It could've been better," I point out with a grin.

This earns me another one of her pretty vicious stares; normally, I manage to make people smile pretty easily. In school, I consider it to be my job to make jokes and to hear people laughing at them. But this girl presents something of a challenge for me. Because no matter how hard I try, her expression only varies between disinterest and anger.

I don't think I've seen her smile once since I spoke to her on the first day of training. Which begs the question, why am I so determined to secure her as an ally?

I mean, she's definitely proficient – she's one of the most skilled tributes that I've noticed here. But that's not it; because there are others who are just as good with various weapons as she is and who seem friendlier as well.

But there's just something about her that draws me in. It happened the first time I saw her during the Chariot rides; her mouth was pressed into a tight line and her eyes were shining with anger. All I had wanted to do was transform that furious expression into laughter and see those dull brown eyes light up.

Then the way she had snapped at me when I had tried to help her with the snares. I had seen her pain so clearly in her eyes and I just wanted to make it go away.

I suppress a groan as I watch her launch another arrow towards the target; who am I kidding? This is more than just me trying to keep up my role as class clown in order to make some stranger laugh. I tug a frustrated hand through my hair; this is me falling for some girl that I barely know, and who, in just a few days, will officially be my enemy.

It would be so much easier to just abandon my efforts now, and walk away. That way, I could try and avoid running into her once we get into the arena and I can get over this stupid infatuation.

But I can't. Of course I can't. I think of Moira, and how she would react if she could see how pathetic I'm being now. _Just get over her, Griff, _she'd tell me, with that look she gets on her face whenever she thinks I'm being stupid.

My eyes travel back over to Samura, as much as I might want them to stay focused on something else. Her eyes glisten with triumph as her last arrow lands on the centre.

I grin at her expression, "Bulls eye!"

"Are you still here?" she mutters impatiently, turning her attention back to the target. "I don't think archery is for you," she says, and I know she's referring back to my earlier awful attempt.

"Really?" I say, picking up the bow once more and grabbing an arrow. "Best of three?"

I don't like being told that I'm bad at something, and anyway, I have to prove that her assumptions about me are wrong. I know she sees me as a useless blundering idiot, hardly someone that would become a useful ally.

I fire an arrow at the target. "Eight points," I say, "beat that." I grin to let her know that I'm joking. She's clearly far better at this than I am.

"OK," she says dully, letting an arrow loose. It hits the nine point zone. "Nine points," she points out with something that could almost resemble a smirk crossing her face.

I can't help but feel slightly proud of this reaction from her. Wasn't this my aim really? To get her to show some kind of human emotion apart from anger.

I pull a face at her and turn back round. This time my arrows lands almost on top of hers and I shoot her a wide smile. "Ha!"

I see anger cross her face, and I squeeze my bow in annoyance. Damn; my good work from a moment ago is ruined. I can't throw the competition though because I think that would just get her even more riled up. Plus, losing to a girl wouldn't be that great for my masculine image... But then again, I've lived my life being ruled by Moira and so I'm not sure if my masculinity is up to much.

She fires another arrow. "Seven points," I say, trying to gauge her reaction.

She narrows her eyes at me, "I can see for myself, thanks."I bite down on my lip to keep myself from laughing. I know from experience that she doesn't particularly react well to being teased.

My last arrow hits the nine point zone again. "Ok, so that means I've got 26 points. I've got this in the bag!"

She releases the last arrow almost effortlessly, and it whizzes straight towards the centre of the target.

"It's a draw!" I exclaim loudly, after adding up the points in my head, and I hold out my hand for a high-five. She glances towards my palm with a slightly derisive look on her face. Wow, could I act like any more of an idiot around her? "Come on, you can't just leave me hanging. It's rude."

She rolls her eyes and slaps her palm harshly against mine. I have to work very hard to resist the urge to twine my fingers through hers and keep her hand held against mine. Something tells me she might not like that very much.

"I would've won," she tells me, as we make our way towards the camouflage station. "But you kept distracting me by being stupid."

"You may call it being stupid. I, however, would call it being charming," I say lightly.

She shoots me a slightly amused look. Woah – that could almost be counted as a smile. "Really? I'm not sure if charming is the word that I would use."

"Yep," I tell her, "I'm a real gentleman." As we reach the station I bow in her direction and am rewarded by witnessing a smile begin to tug at the corners of her lips.

Unfortunately, I also receive a scornful glance from Lien, who is at the edible plants station next to us.

Samura catches the girl's expression and just rolls her eyes, "Who does that girl think she is?" she mutters, obviously angry at the girl's rudeness. I can't quite suppress the thrill that rushes through me as I realise that she's angry on my behalf. "She looks about ten years old. She's not going to last a minute once she gets into the arena. Especially not if she turns everyone else against her."

For a moment I'm surprised into silence, which doesn't happen often to me, because this is the most I've ever heard her say in one go. Usually I have to put up with monosyllabic responses from her while I attempt to keep the conversation going. "I'm not sure if she's as innocent as she looks. She's definitely got some kind of game plan. I mean, look who her allies are."

Samura just shrugs in disinterest, "She's still tiny. I don't think I'm going to see her as my biggest opponent."

I glance back over at Lien who I watching me with an icy expression on her face. I've been keeping a close watch on Lien ever since the way she had looked at me after we had been reaped. Perhaps she's small, but she's certainly clever. I can't help but suspect that she's going to use the innocent little girl act to her advantage and there's more than a few people in this room who will die because they underestimated her.

I'm determined that neither me, nor Samura, will be one of her victims. Even if Samura won't take what I've said about her seriously.

I narrow my eyes back in her direction, to let her know that I don't trust her, and then spin around to where Samura is swirling berry juice across her arm.

"This station is pointless," she tells me when she feels my eyes on her, "I don't know why you insisted we visit every station at least once. What am I supposed to learn from this one?"

"Well, there all here for a reason, aren't they?" I point out.

But she's obviously chosen not to listen to me. Not about this, or about Lien. I can't help but feel slightly frustrated about this; in this respect, she kind of reminds me of Moira who rarely listened to what I had to say either. Maybe I just have a slight problem with being controled by bossy, over-domineering women. Ah well, my life will be much easier if I just choose not to argue about it.

I can't help my mind flickering back to Moira; I wonder how she's doing back home with only mum and dad for company. Mum's probably just lying in bed, oblivious to the world. I'm sure dad will be out on another hunting trip. I hope she won't get too lonely without me there – our whole lives it's really just been the two of us. Always looking out for each other and keeping one another sane in a world that seemed to be falling apart around us.

I sigh at the berry juice that now stains Samura's skin. I've never really liked the colour red, especially not after I starting hunting on a regular basis, because it always makes me think of blood, and of watching the life drain out of the animals that I have to kill to keep my family alive.

I suppose that hunting in back home, and hunting in the arena might not turn out to be all that different. In both cases I have to do something which sickens me and makes me hate myself just a little bit, but in both cases I have to force myself to just get on with it. Back home, to support my family, and in the arena I suppose it'll be more to help support Samura. If I'm going to ally with her, then I certainly don't want to be a burden on her.

It's more than that though; I don't want to get her killed through my incompetence. It would be better if I just left her alone because then I wouldn't be facing that risk. But... what if by leaving her alone she got into more trouble and I wasn't there to even have a chance of getting her out of it?

I can't let myself think like that though; think that I would risk my life to save hers. Because then I'd be condemning Moira to a life of loneliness. But then, I don't think that I could ever live peacefully, knowing that I allowed someone like Samura to die.

Why is this so hard?

Why have I finally encountered something which forces me to think seriously? I certainly can't joke my way out of this situation.

Samura glances towards me, and I realise that I've been standing there, motionless, for about five minutes.

I smile at her quickly, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of her. I can't stand letting people see my weaknesses. Especially not here, when people knowing my weaknesses could mean death.

"I know what you have to use camouflage for," I tell her, a wide smile spreading across my face as I remember the game me and Moira used to play with mud when we were kids.

I dip my finger into the pot of mud, and spread a tiny bit onto my nose. Samura watches me with a blank expression. I get a bit more mud on the tip of my finger and draw three diagonal lines on each of my cheeks.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't you get it?" I ask, gesturing towards my newly painted cheeks.

She shakes her head and I feel slightly disappointed. "I'm supposed to be a cat," I tell her in a dejected voice.

The harsh line of her mouth suddenly breaks, and all thoughts of Moira escape from my head as she finally laughs. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _But I've been waiting up for all this time, and you stayed away but I feel it in my bones._


	18. Spectators II

**Spectators II**

Felicity Theobald runs her hand through her newly dyed hair. She smiles broadly as she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her new flaming red style certainly clashes spectacularly with her new bright pink contact lenses. She's attempting to start a new trend.

Not that trends matter right now; Felicity has other things occupying her mind. The scores for the tributes of the first Hunger Games are about to be broadcast.

This will be the first real indicator of who the front runners for these Games might be and of who would be a good choice to sponsor.

Felicity has been told that she can sponsor _one _of the tributes, but she's not sure who to choose yet. There were so many who stuck in her head after the opening ceremonies.

"Hello, and welcome to the Hungers Games! It's time to hear those all important scores!"

She squeals in excitement at this announcement, given by Frieda Yaxton. A peppy looking young woman with forest green hair. She also has green eye make-up and lipstick; which, to Felicity, doesn't seem to be that good a look. Still, each to their own.

A picture of Rocco Flinn suddenly appears on the screen and Felicity can barely control herself; this has to be the best day of her life.

"8" flashes up in front of his angry expression and she glances at the screen in interest. He hadn't made a particularly big impression on her during the opening ceremonies, but he might be someone to watch.

Then the pretty face of Salima Yandas is shown and Felicity glares at the screen. She still doesn't care for this over-confident girl. It's not fair! "7" – it's nothing special, but it's not a bad score. She might be in with a chance.

Zack Grimes is up next. Felicity finds him interesting, because she senses some kind of competition between him and Samura. It'll certainly be interesting during the Games! Another "7"; Felicity expected more from him – he looked quite big during the chariot rides.

Then Samura Nightshade comes up. "10" – Felicity lets out a yell of excitement. The highest score so far is from the smallest tribute yet! She wonders how Samura managed to impress the judges so well.

The little boy from district 3, Jared Skale, gets an embarrassingly low score of "2". Felicity would feel bad for him – he is only 12 – but he's boring and she's more interested in the tributes who have a chance of winning. She'd never sponsor him.

The face of the awkward girl from three, Olive Pithy, flashes onto the screen, with a "6" scrawled beneath her name. Despite her relatively low score, Felicity can't help but remember the anger in her eyes during the opening ceremony and she doesn't rule her out quite yet.

The handsome boy, Aaron Vargas, grins down at her from the screen and Felicity feels herself flush slightly. "11" – this score has just blown everyone else's out of the water. Not that Felicity would have expected anything less; he's enormous!

Then the gorgeous face of Sasha Darke flashes up. She is certainly one of Felicity's favourites at the moment. "6" – Felicity stares at her television with disbelief. How did she only get a 6? There must be something wrong with the judges...

The little boy from District 5 only gets a "4" and Felicity turns away in disgust. She has no time for the weaklings.

Kelby Fuse appears next and Felicity examines a lock of her hair to check that it's the exact same colour as Kelby's. It seems slightly off to her – she'll be taking another trip to the salon tomorrow. "6" – this is more than she expected from her.

The two tributes from District 6 both get "3". Felicity shrugs dully.

The strange girl from District 7, Ceylon Touramaline, arrives on screen, a dreamy expression on her face. Felicity doesn't know what to expect from a girl who fell out of her chariot. "5" – still, there's something interesting about her, and Felicity refrains from judging her until she gets into the arena.

The boy from District 8, Kye Willows, stares determinedly from the screen. Felicity wonders what's keeping him fighting. "8" – fair enough, he's certainly large and Felicity imagines he can fight well enough. He might be someone to keep an eye on.

However, the girl from his district only gets "4".

Griffin Ashlock has a wide smile on his face and Felicity can't help but smile back as she sees his picture. He looks funny, though she isn't sure if it will be that useful in the arena. "7" – it's an alright score, but he seems strong enough to have done better.

Felicity sighs at the adorable face of Lien Axford – though there are several other younger tributes, Lien seems the sweetest. "8" – a gasp erupts from her throat. How did that little girl pull an eight? Felicity hopes she's got several tricks up her sleeve.

Misha Rolanksy is pulling a fierce expression in his picture, and Felicity feels a thrill of terror rush through her body as she looks at him. "10" – the only thing Felicity wonders is why he didn't get a twelve.

The girl from District 10 only gets a "2".

Yari Meadows, the tribute who seems the most annoying, flashes onto the screen, smirking away at Felicity. "7" – she feels quite annoyed that he actually got a decent score. He really seems like an infuriating little boy.

However, his female counterpart only manages to pull a "3".

Harrow Followill is the next tribute to appear on the screen. Once again, Felicity tries to figure out whether Aaron or Harrow is better looking. She can't decide. "9" – this is a good score, especially from the poorest district.

The last tribute is Rivka Locklier – she seemed like a quiet, sweet little girl at the reaping and even a new haircut couldn't mask her fear at the opening ceremony. This is why Felicity is quite shocked when her score pops up – "8". Felicity wonders why.

There have certainly been several surprises during the scoring, and Felicity is sure that experts will be analysing and evaluating them all night. She intends to stay up and watch the whole show – she needs to decide soon who she plans to sponsor.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

The tribute with the most votes at the end of interviews will be the one that Felicity chooses to sponsor.

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _Why fear death, be scared of living, hearts are small and ever thinning, there is no hope ever of winning._


	19. The Interviews: Part One

**Salima Yandas, District 1.**

I flash a grateful smile towards my stylist as she puts the finishing touches to my make-up and hair. I haven't been able to take my eyes off the way her hands move as she plaits my hair. She's very skilled; I wanted to ask her to teach me how to do that but I wasn't sure if it would come across as rude or not – it might seem like I didn't think she was good enough and would rather do my own hair.

That would completely clash with the image my mentors have told me to present. Thea and Theo instructed me to act polite and confident during my interview. Seeing as they're from the Capitol – in my eyes there's no nicer place on earth – I have decided to listen to them wholeheartedly. I feel unreservedly grateful that they've shown me so much support.

They had told me that I had made a dazzling impression during the opening ceremony, commended me on my choice of ally and congratulated my score.

Wyra hands me my outfit and directs me behind a screen to get changed. Unlike my prep team, who don't seem to realise that it's highly unladylike to force someone to strip in front of an audience, Wyra actually acts to protect my dignity and I'm not forced to change in front of the whole room.

I slide into the outfit, careful not to spoil my hair as I do so. It has been plaited and then coiled into an intricate bun on top of my head. I've never felt so beautiful before.

I glance at my outfit in excitement. It's a silver jumpsuit, studded with jewels of various colours. From the weight of it, I can only imagine that they're real jewels rather than nasty prosthetics. Of course, we're in the Capitol – the height of sophistication – and so I doubt that they would use fake jewels on such an important outfit.

The outfit fits me perfectly and my prep team gasp as I step out from behind the screen.

"You look so beautiful!" Nala exclaims, clapping her hands together with glee.

I smile back at her, "Thank you. But it's down to all of your hard work, so really you should just be congratulating yourselves." Always be modest – that was what my mother had taught me. Never accept compliments either.

My effort to turn their compliment back around works wonders – they all start shrieking about how lovely and kind I am. Honestly, squealing like that seems slightly undignified to me but then I don't want to question the methods of the Capitol.

Wyra looks at me sternly, "Make sure you make a good impression. I want everyone to remembering my outfit being worn by an intelligent, stunning tribute. Not by some hick who can't even pronounce her words. I'm sure you won't let me down."

For a moment, anger rises within me – the fact that she would even consider the fact that I might behave atrociously in front of the whole of Panem really annoys me – but I push it back inside of me. I can understand why she might have needed to make this point to some of the other tributes. Particularly some of the male ones, for example that yob from District 11, who seem to have no sense of decorum whatsoever.

I'm not completely certain that I agree with the Capitol on everything, despite the fact that I do admire them. I mean – there seems something so wrong about these Games. But, in my opinion, we've been selected now and they're definitely going to happen. I've spent the last few days exploring the wonders of the Capitol and making friends.

Making friends is going to win you sponsors. Going around acting mad with the Capitol all the time certainly isn't. And I did promise Leo that I would at least try – I'm the kind of girl who always keeps her promises.

* * *

I scan my eyes along the row of my fellow tributes as the harassed looking assistants try and manoeuvre everyone into the correct place. A few of the more dopey tributes seem to have no clue what they should be doing. I particularly notice the girl from District 7 who is staring absently towards the audience while someone tries to shepherd her into position.

I, however, take my seat immediately and cross my legs neatly to start making a good impression on the crowd already starting to take their seats in the huge studio. I felt pretty pleased yesterday when my mentors told me that I didn't really need any prep work. They had told me what angle to play the interview from – which won't be too much of a struggle for me – and then left me to it.

I had listened at the door as they had tried to instruct Rocco though. Trying to talk to that guy is like banging your head against a brick wall over and over. I think they finally suggested he should act 'sullen,' which I doubt will prove to be too much of a stretch for him.

Finally, everyone seems to be settled and I take in the awe-inspiring sight of my Capitol audience. I remember how my mother always told me that the best thing you could do was emulate a Capitol citizen because they are the epitome of sophistication, and seeing these people now, I can't help but think that she had a point.

I feel ashamed that there were some people in District 1 who dared to rebel. We've always been treated well by the Capitol and we had no right to complain. If I win this, I'm hoping that it might prove that District 1 is the most loyal of all the districts.

"Hello, and welcome to the interviews for the first ever Hunger Games!" shrieks the woman up on the stage – she has dark green hair and, for some reason, dark green make-up to match."I'm Frieda Yaxton, and I'll be your host for this evening!"

"How would you like to get our first tribute up on the stage?" The crowd erupts into screams of excitement and I twist my hands together tightly, my previous confidence evaporating at an alarming rate seeing as I'm about to go up onto the stage.

"Please welcome... Salima Yandas!"

I stand up on trembling legs as I feel the eyes of everyone in the room upon me – I can't afford to be nervous though; this is my last chance to win sponsors before we enter the arena. And besides, talking in front of people is something that I can do easily. I should be more worried about the actual Hunger Games.

I force my most winning smile onto my face and beam at Frieda who returns it instantly.

"It's lovely to meet you," she tells me, grinning brightly.

"And you," I reply, shaking her hand firmly.

"Now, the thing I have to know. A beautiful girl like you – you have a boyfriend, right?"

For a moment, I consider making some hugely dramatic statement about how I'm in love with one of my fellow tributes. But I don't really think it would be that believable, because I'm miles out of all of their leagues.

"Nope," I say, laughing lightly, "but thank you."

"Does that mean you're on the look-out for someone then? Because I can imagine there are quite a few people in this room who would be interested in you!"

I giggle again, "Perhaps, and I'd certainly be honoured if any of the Capitol citizens would think I'm worthy of them."

"Well, I thank you on behalf of all of us! So, you're enjoying your time in the Capitol then?"

"Of course. Ever since I was little, all I've wanted to do was come here. Everything is just so beautiful – the buildings, the people; everything!" I quickly shut my mouth, because I'm worried that I'm gushing too much.

"How does it compare to your own District then?"

"It's similar in some ways I suppose. But I just think everything is so much more _dignified _here than it is back home. And that's important to me."

"You certainly seem like a cultured young lady."

"I hope so – it's something my mother has always tried to instil into me. And I just want to live up to her expectations."

"So, you're close with your mother then?"

"Extremely. She's like a best friend to me – and I have nothing but respect for her."

"Really, so-" suddenly a buzzer goes off and I look round in annoyance. I don't think I said anywhere near enough to have made a good impression. I did what my mentors wanted to me to do; but I'm just not sure that it was enough.

Still, I stand gracefully and shake her hand again, making sure that I smile widely at the audience before I return to my seat.

"Next up... Rocco Flinn!"

My male counterpart pushes himself dully to his feet, and stomps over to the chair beside Frieda. _Ugh; he looks even more uncultured now he's following me._

"So, Rocco. How are you enjoying living the Capitol lifestyle?"

Rocco just shrugs, not even bothering to open his mouth. I stare, aghast; I'm unable to believe that he's being so rude. This is his one chance to win the audience over and he's just shrugging?

I can tell that Frieda has no idea what to do next - and the audience are staring in confusion as well.

"Umm, so, are you excited about being a tribute in the first ever Hunger Games? It's such an honour, after all."

Rocco shrugs again, and Frieda casts a panicked looked at the buzzer beside her. Just like magic, it suddenly rings and Rocco has to return to his seat. I have to admire the smoothness of the proceedings – Rocco wasn't cooperating, so they simply got rid of him.

"And now, let's meet... Samura Nightshade."

She steps confidently onto the stage – her stylist has dressed her like a peacekeeper, which I can't help thinking isn't very appropriate for an interview. We're supposed to look attractive... but the hard set of her jaw gives me the suspicion that perhaps she demanded that she be dressed like this. I doubt any of the Capitol citizens would act like that.

Samura ignores the hand that Frieda extends, and instead just sits down, staring at her furiously with a pair of dark eyes.

"Now, the question that I think must be on everyone's lips, is why did you volunteer?"

Samura raises a shaking hand – I can't quite work out if it's shaking with anger or with fear... maybe a bit of both – and pushes her hair out of her eyes before answering.

"Do you want the truth?" she asks bitterly.

"Of course we want the truth," Frieda replies, while the audience mutters their ascent.

"My mother was killed the evening before the Reapings. And so I just thought, why not? I mean, I have nothing left to live for anymore. So the Hunger Games seemed like a good escape route to me."

I gasp involuntarily the moment she closes her mouth; I can't believe the bitterness in her voice. It's hardly the Capitol's fault that her mother was killed.

The audience are completely beside themselves – there are even a couple of woman who are wiping tears from their eyes and hugging each other tightly. A chorus of muttering floods the room and Frieda tries desperately to bring the situation back under control.

"So, you're saying that you're not even going to try once you get into the arena?"

Samura's eyes fill up with anger once more, and she throws a filthy glance at Zack that has me worried. I've teamed up with him – and now, it's clear from her gaze that she has some kind of vendetta against him.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that" she says, a smirk crossing her face as she speaks. Maybe when I volunteered that was my plan, but a few things have changed now."

Here, her face softens slightly and her head jerks slightly back towards the row of tributes before she gets the movement under control.

I wonder if it's that boy from District 9?

**Olive Pithy, District 3**.

I shift uncomfortably in my soft black dress, crossing my bare feet underneath my chair awkwardly. My stylist had insisted that people would remember me better if I wore the same outfit as I had done for my Reaping. Of course, it's a slightly cleaner version of that outfit. I also can't help but wish that they had let me wear shoes. Not wearing shoes isn't my trademark, unlike that guy from District 10, it's just that we couldn't afford any so I hadn't been able to wear any to the Reaping.

My eyes flicker back to the wide expanse of Capitol audience and I have to lower my face in the hope that they don't see the blush that's beginning to form on my cheeks. I despise being the centre of attention like this – and I know that it's going to be even worse once it actually gets to my interview.

I watched as Samura returns to her seat; her eyes still look hard and angry, and I remind myself not to get on the wrong side of her.

"Up next is Zack Grimes" Cue more clapping from the Capitol audience and cue more awkward shifting on my part. I'm up next, and I run my mind back over the conversation that I had with my mentors about my 'angle.' I can remember it exactly, down to their expressions and gestures while they were instructing me.

I'm planning on following their advice to the letter, because I have no idea what I'm doing and they clearly have some kind of plan figured out for me. I don't care what I have to do – I just want to go back home. Hell, at this point I'm even looking forward to seeing Flamma.

I focus my attention back onto Zack. I've noticed him and Salima have become allies – it's interesting, seeing all the unlikely alliances that have sprung up during the training sessions. I wonder if this is how the other tributes view my own alliance with Jared, Rivka and Harrow.

In my mind, however, it doesn't seem all that strange. Rivka is very similar to me – I don't have to attempt to make small talk if a silence between us stretches out for a while, because it's not an uncomfortable silence. I've always preferred silence to talking anyway – there's no pretence when you're not speaking and everyone knows exactly what you're thinking. But it's when people start to talk that the problems start – people lie, or make hurtful comments, or criticise. I can't stand the cruelty that comes out of some people's mouths.

Harrow is fairly like Rivka and I as well – quiet and uncertain. Still, there's a definite strength to him that will be useful once we get into the arena. It's more than that though; I just like him. He reminds me of Loki, my best friend back home. No nonsense, just gets on with it. He's definitely the kind of person I would make friends with at home, and so he just seemed the logical choice for an ally.

Then Jared. I had to ally with him – I could hardly leave my tiny, defenceless district partner to fend for himself. But I'm not going to kid myself that he'll last too long once the Games start.

Zack's interview is distinctly uncomfortable to watch; Frieda doesn't seem to care about his own background, she just wants to know what's going on with him and Samura.

"That look she gave you, it must mean something?" she presses eagerly, obviously sensing that a juicy story lies within the glance that Samura had given to Zack.

He just shrugs, reminding me of the boy from District 1 who had done the same thing.

"I honestly have no idea. If she wants to bear a grudge against me for no reason then that's her problem. It doesn't matter anyway, because she's going down once we get into the arena."

The buzzer sounds and Zack looks pretty annoyed with Frieda. I can't say I blame him; he was hardly given a chance to sell himself to the audience. That last comment was the only saving sentence within the whole interview.

"Olive Pithy, would you like to step up here?"

It's me! I had been so busy musing over Zack's interview that I hadn't even had time to prepare myself for this.

I remember my mentors' advice: _you look younger than you really are, so play it shy and sweet. Make the crowd aaw._

I step towards the interview chair. Shy and sweet. Shy and sweet. Shy and sweet.

The colour rises in my cheeks as the spotlight hits my face and I take my seat, smoothing out my dress uncertainly, but then twisting the dark material with my fingers.

"So, Olive. What have you enjoyed most about your time in the Capitol so far?"

A question. Ok, that means I have to give an answer.

"Umm, definitely the food. We don't have anything like it back home," I mutter quietly, all intelligent answers rushing out of my brain as my eyes linger on the audience.

"Oh really," she replies, grinning at me almost sympathetically, "and what would your favourite new food be?"

"Definitely the sweet and sour chicken. I've had it five times already," I smile gratefully as I hear the audience titter slightly in response to my comment, "I even asked one of the chefs how to make it and it sounds really simple." I quickly reel off a couple of lines of the recipe before I remember where I am. Then I trail off uncertainly.

"Woah, you've certainly got a good memory there. A bit like a jabberjay, huh?"

This makes me laugh as I remember Rivka and Harrow's astounded faces when I had first demonstrated my good memory in front of them, and then Harrow had come up with the nickname "Jabber."

I explain this to Frieda now, because she looks confused ay my sudden outburst of laughing. "Some of the other tributes have already started calling me Jabber."

She laughs, and so do the audience. I even hear a few claps somewhere, which confuses me slightly – I didn't realise that a good memory would be a reason for applause. But as long as it gets me remembered, I don't particularly care.

"Now, what about your family? Anyone you'd like to give a message to back home?"

I smile, suddenly feeling quite vindictive, and say quietly, "Well, my sister Flamma is always complaining that I embarrass her... So I don't want to depart from tradition. I love you Flamma – and everyone in the District knows that you're in love with Klave."

This wins me another laugh from the audience, and I can't help feeling slightly bad for a moment. Maybe that last part was a bit too much. But then I remember all the names that Flamma has called me over the years, and I decide that I should have taken it even further.

"And mum? Don't worry, you're not going to lose me as well as dad." The buzzer goes off just as I speak these words, and I am kind of glad because I don't want to have to talk about my father in front of the Capitol audience. Not the way that Samura spoke of her mother – I don't want these Capitol people to know everything about me.

Isn't it bad enough that the Reaping was blatantly fixed to get me into the arena?

I shoot an anxious look up the row of tributes at Rivka and Harrow, who both flash a discrete thumbs up in my direction. I don't want to let them down – any sponsors that I win will also be useful to them as my allies.

I barely even have time to be worried for Jared before he's being called up for his interview. He sits down, his short legs swinging freely on the chair and I clench my fists at the horrible image of his fragile little body being slaughtered for Capitol entertainment. Why didn't I use my three minutes to criticise the Capitol for what they're doing?

I know why... because I'm too much of a coward. I'm terrified of the idea of dying, and even of just getting hurt and I don't want them to make my life in the arena even worse. At least if I play along then I'll have a chance of making it out alive. But I despise myself a little bit for thinking like that.

"So, Jared, you're one of our youngest tributes this year. Do you think this puts you at a disadvantage?"

He glances back at me nervously, and I try to give him an encouraging smile. I think it works because he turns back to Frieda, and starts talking. "I don't think it will make much of a difference, because no one really knows what they're doing. Anyway, I've got some pretty good allies."

"Ahh, now I'm betting that one of them is that lovely girl from your district. Am I right?"

Jared just replies with a mischievous little grin that makes me smile a bit as well.

He goes on to talk about his family, while I fret about whether or not my interview made me seem too awkward and uncomfortable. There are plenty of pretty, confident girls among the other tributes and I'm not really either of those things. This must put me at an instant disadvantage, because I've seen how important appearance is to these Capitol folk. Plus, I didn't even follow the advice of my mentors to act shy and sweet. I just acted awkward and angry – in other words, I completely forgot to play the interview from any kind of angle.

I lift a hand to my mouth and chew on my nails as Jared's interview finishes and the audience clap politely. That's all I had got as well – obligatory applause. Not the huge sweeping applause that Samura had received for talking about her mother. The audience obviously rewards bravery, which suggests that they probably won't have liked me very much.

"How'd I do?" Jared whispers softly as he sits back down beside me.

I stop biting my fingernails long enough to tell him that I thought he had done amazingly, and then I put my fingers back to my mouth and watch as Sasha ascends the steps onto the stage.

She's the kind of girl I was thinking of before – she obviously thinks she's head and shoulders above everyone, and that confidence she has in herself inspires others to have confidence in her too.

She tosses her dark hair back over her shoulder as she takes a seat and then pouts at the audience, who cheer in response. This girl could say absolutely nothing at all and she'd still blow the rest of us out of the water.

She wears a dress that I could never cope with – I'd be constantly pulling it down in an attempt to make it longer, but this doesn't seem to be bothering Sasha very much. In fact, she pushes the bottom of the dress up even further as she sits down to reveal more of her legs.

"How are you enjoying spending time in the Capitol then Sasha?" Frieda finally gets out once the whooping has stopped.

"I feel like this is the kind of the place that's made for me. And I certainly fit in amongst all the beautiful people here," she says, a wide smile on her face and her eyes daring anyone to contradict what she has just said. No one does – the audience just cheer even louder at her words.

I can't help but notice that this girl is the exact opposite of me.

"Looks like our audience are certainly in agreement with you. What's your favourite thing in the Capitol so far?"

"It has to be the clothes," she replies, gesturing to her barely there, shimmery blue dress and higher heels than I've ever seen before, "everything here is just so fashionable!"

Cue another huge yell from the audience – she certainly knows how to work the charm.

"Well, you certainly seem to be wearing the clothes very well."

Sasha stands up suddenly and, throwing a sultry glance towards the crowd, she spins in a circle, showing off every inch of her dress.

"Thank you," she says as she sits back down. Something about the way she says it suggests to me that she doesn't need the compliment – she knows she looks good. I, however, won't even believe I look nice when someone gives me a compliment – it just makes me blush stupidly.

Sasha starts talking confidently about her parents, and explains how they've instilled a sense of confidence in her from a young age. "They always taught me to believe in myself, and so I believe that I can win. Actually, scratch that. I know that I can win."

I sigh as she speaks those words – she's definitely going to be competition.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? All you can do is try to know who your friends are, as you head off to the war


	20. The Interviews: Part Two

**Aaron Vargas, District 4**.

Sasha returns to her seat amidst a storm of applause which infuriates me slightly. I run a hand through my hair in annoyance and glance down at the outfit my stylists forced me into. To be fair to them, I don't look half as bad as some of the other tributes and I'm relieved that it's more casual than what I had been wearing during the chariot rides. I mean, they had made me wear a bloody tie! No wonder I had yanked it off – I swear that thing had been trying to cut off my circulation. It's a far cry from the simple black uniform I had worn in the days of the rebellion.

I sigh – there's a tiny part of me that's starting to regret volunteering. Don't get me wrong; I want the experience of the arena. I need that exhilaration and the thrill of having power over whether someone lives or dies. But all this stupid dressing up and jumping through hoops for the Capitol? No thanks... I may have fought on their side during the rebellion, but that's because they were clearly going to come out on top, and I don't tend to side with losers.

Which begs the question as to why exactly I've chosen Lien as an ally? Kye and Rocco make sense; they're the kind of guys I had in my squad – strong, determined and just prepared to get on with it. Lien on the other hand... I know she might only be thirteen, but there's something about her that I admire. I think she reminds me slightly of Envee – they're both tiny, but completely determined and full of spirit. The way Lien talks; she obviously believes she's got a pretty big chance of winning this thing. That's the kind of person I admire.

"Next up is Aaron Vargas." The jewelies told me exactly how I should be playing this; relaxed and calm to make me stand out in front of the other overly confident tributes like Sasha and Salima. Public speaking has never really fazed me; I had to inspire confidence in my squad using only words. I won't lie, Envee was always better at evoking the emotions in them but I could always transmit my points clearly.

I step over to the chair, making sure to throw a smile at the crowd and run a hand through my hair as I do so. My smile widens as I'm rewarded with a bunch of girly screams from the audience. I didn't fully understand the process of these Games before I volunteered and when I had found out that we had to go through all this parading around first I felt slightly unsure of myself. But after the reaction I had received during the opening ceremony... Well, let's just say I wasn't so nervous about it anymore.

"Nice to meet you," Frieda says with a wide smile as I take my seat.

"And you," I say smoothly, looking her directly in the eyes. I'm rewarded by seeing a slight flush rise in her cheeks; the pink colour barely concealed beneath her pale make up.

She's watching me expectantly and I suddenly realise that she asked me a question.

_Aaron, you absolute idiot. Why pick now, of all times, to stop paying attention?_

I force myself to focus on reality – I don't want them to think that I'm as dopey as that District 7 girl.

"Excuse me?" I have to ask, because I'm sitting here blinking widely at her and I don't want to waste my whole interview staring blankly like I don't have a clue what's going on.

Luckily, the audience laughs at this so it looks like I got away with my stupidity.

"I asked what your reason for volunteering was?"

A-ha ok, logical first question I suppose.

"Well, I guess I've always needed adrenaline to live. During the rebellion I enjoyed the rush of defending myself, and fighting for what I believed in. I guess I miss that now that it's over, and the Hunger Games seemed like it would give me one last opportunity for a thrill." I reel off effortlessly; I practised this answer over and over in my prep yesterday.

"So, what do you think about the Games?"

Hmm, I need to be careful with my answer to this one because I can't afford to put anyone's backs up.

I grin at the crowd but then contort my features into a more serious expression, and say, "I think they're necessary. We made a lot of mistakes during the rebellion, particularly those who fought _against _the Capitol," I have to resist the urge to throw a filthy look at Sasha when I say this part as the image of her aunt pops into my mind. I can't help the acceleration of my heart rate when I think about getting my hands on her in the arena though. I'm going to make her suffer for everything that her aunt did.

"Right," Frieda says, nodding in agreement. I don't know if I entirely agree with what I just said; perhaps necessary was the wrong word, but I can't show that in front of the Capitol citizens. It's best to just act as if I believe wholeheartedly in the Games. "And what about your family life? What's that like?"

"Honestly, there's only one person back home that I really care about." Envee.

Since the beginning of the rebellion and the death of my younger sister, Coral, my parents have neglected to play a central role in my life and I learned that I could do things without them. They were against me taking revenge on the rebels for their actions against the Capitol, and against our family too, and so I just moved out. I found myself in charge of a squad, and commanded their respect; my parents slipped from my mind. I haven't seen them for months actually. I wonder how they reacted at the Reaping? Indifferently, I suppose. Not that I particularly care anyway.

"And who would that be?"

I wonder for a second if Envee will resent me speaking about her in front of everyone else. She's always so reluctant to admit that she actually likes me, but I know what I felt when I kissed her. She definitely kissed me back. Anyway, I'm proud of her, so why shouldn't I tell the world about her?

"My best friend," I declare loudly, my mouth curving involuntarily upwards as I think of her and I hope that's enough to get my feelings across. I don't want to bring Envee to this place by speaking about her – I'd prefer to keep the thought of her separate from the Games and untarnished. This is enough to let her know that I'm thinking about her. And that's enough for me.

_When did I turn into such a romantic...? _I don't normally let myself think this way about people, but with Envee I can't help it.

The buzzer goes off and I return to my seat in relief, glad that I won't be made to go into any more detail about her.

"Let's welcome Kelby Fuse to the stage now!" It's easy for me to brush off thoughts of my own interview and focus on hers because I want to amass information about the other tributes. Of course, many of them could simply be playing an angle but still, I doubt anyone here is that good of an actor that no part of their real personality will come through.

There's a definite change as the fiery haired girl walks towards the chair. She wears a long flowing white dress, decorated with black and grey numbers – but it's not the dress that makes her seem different. Throughout training, I've dismissed her as a bit of an idiot. Always jabbering away with a stupid smile on her face like she can't see anything bad in the world, but as she makes her way across the stage now, with a clenched jaw and furious green eyes, I'm forced to revise my interpretation of her.

"So Kelby," Frieda asks the moment she has taken her seat, "how are you enjoying the Capitol?"

And she wipes the anger from her face suddenly; it disappears so quickly that I blink, startled. Had I just imagined it?

She starts up with the usual gushing that I had heard from her mouth throughout the training and I try to suppress a sigh; I can't stand it when girls go off on one like this. This is one of the reasons I'm starting to suspect that Envee is actually the only one for me – she doesn't feel the need to fill up every silence between us with pointless small talk. She's happy to just let it be. Kelby is obviously a completely different kettle of fish.

"When we first arrived it was just completely overwhelming to see all the buildings, and the people. Not to mention the cars... And then everyone just looks so different than they do back home – it's all the bright colours I think. Though, everyone said that my hair fits in quite well with the fashion. It isn't dyed though – it's actually my natural hair colour."

Frieda looks just as overwhelmed as Kelby said she was and stutters for a few moments before she actually manages to get a response out of her mouth.

"Well, I think we'd all agree that your hair was a lovely colour. I'm guessing it runs in your family?"

That question is all it takes for Kelby's expression to darken once more, and for me to be certain that I didn't imagine it the first time.

"My son has the same hair as me, yeah," she announces dramatically. I glance at her in surprise; she looks far too young to have son – she's just a kid herself. Some of these poorer districts sure are interesting...

"Your son? Tell us about him."

I see uncertainty cross Kelby's face before she launches into a description of her son. I'm tempted to zone out again, because I'm not really all that interested in her personal life – or indeed anything that won't actually have an impact in the arena. But when she starts talking, although she's rambling away like she was before, there's something different about how she's saying it. Something more fierce.

When finally she peters out of words, Frieda asks her one last question, "Anything else you'd like to say about the Games?" She's obviously run out of questions because Kelby talked for so long that she pretty much exhausted every topic of conversation without even being asked anything.

"I think ..." she hesitates for a moment, but then her face suddenly hardens and she launches into speech once again, "I think the whole idea of the Hunger Games is completely twisted." _What is she saying? _"I think that all of you are monsters – how does this solve anything?" Her voice becomes louder, more animated, "or make anything right? It's completely and utterly-" the buzzer suddenly goes off and Kelby seems to remember where she is. Frieda looks absolutely scandalised as she ushers her back to her seat and the audience break out into confused mutterings that fill the room.

I can't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to criticise the Hunger Games in front of a Capitol audience. Don't get me wrong, I guess it was pretty brave but it won't have made any difference in the long run, and could even have just cost her her life. We're here now; we need to win the audience over, not criticise them.

**Kye Willows, District 8.**

I look like a scarecrow again. I'm really starting to resent the fact that my stylist is trying to turn this into my trademark.

To be far, it is a lot better than what I has been forced into for the opening ceremonies, but still... I really don't want Amy to have to see me like this because I'm certainly not going to win any sponsors when I look so stupid and I don't want her to look at me on the television and think that I don't stand a chance.

My mind is constantly going back to Amy; everything reminds me of her, and every time I experience something new I think about how much I want to show it to her and how I want her to see the amazing things that I'm seeing too.

Of course, I don't actually want her to be _here_ and see them, but maybe if ... when I win then I take her here and let her everything that I have seen. Like the showers for example – I don't think even the mayor has a shower back home, and these ones are something else; they spray all kinds of different liquids and scents at you.

I shift my arms and force myself not to pull at the seams of my suit – to be honest, it doesn't look very well put together, just like the first one. It's similar to the first one but, fortunately, this one doesn't have a section of gaudy fabrics like the first. It's more classy in my opinion, but it still doesn't really cut it compared to the other tributes.

The others... It's quite intimidating to sit this close to people that I'll be attempting to kill this time tomorrow. During training, it was easier to keep my distance from the majority of the others, only talking to those members of my alliance. But now I have to watch as they talk about their personal lives and their feelings, and it makes everyone seem much more real. It's especially hard for me because the girl from District 4, Sasha, could be a doppelgänger for Amy. I noticed the other day during training when she fluttered her eyelashes at me just as Amy used to do when we first got together and now I can't get the similarity out of my mind.

I have to force myself to tear my eyes away from her now, because I don't want Amy to catch a glimpse of me at home and start thinking that I'm looking at her for all the wrong reasons. Not that she would ever consider the possibility that I might even just _look _at another girl.

I can't concentrate on the other tributes after Kelby's outburst against the Capitol. I could see in some of the tributes faces that they respected her for doing that, but I can't say that I feel the same way about it.

I'm not saying that I agree with the Games in any way – but honestly, it is what it is and I just want to win. If I have to kill people to see Amy and Lila again, then that's exactly what I plan to do and I'm not going to risk angering the Capitol by badmouthing them. It's futile, in my eyes, and I want to make it out of that arena alive.

The tributes from five and six slip by without me really noticing; my mind is elsewhere, with Amy and I can't bring myself back into the present.

A loud squawk from the interviewer suddenly brings me back to my sense, and for a moment I'm worried that I was daydreaming for so long that I missed my interview slot and my stomach contracts in nervousness. But then I register what she's actually saying, "CEYLON TOURAMALINE!" I'm almost tempted to put my hands over my ears; it's that loud.

I peer down the row, and my eyes land on Ceylon who is staring absently at the crowd, making her hands walk up and down her legs like spiders. Wow, and I thought her dippy nature had maybe been an act during training to keep everyone thinking she was just a weakling and could be easily overlooked, but that was clearly wrong.

An attendant actually has to go over and shake her out of her reverie. I shake my head in astonishment as she is led onto the stage in a blue and white jewelled dress. After a moment I realise that the jewels are arranged in the shapes of clouds – I have to suppress a smile as I realise that it's supposed to resemble the fact that she's a bit of a daydreamer.

But then annoyance surges within me – what does her outfit have to do with her district? And yet, here I am, dressed in a haphazard suit that's going to put everyone off sponsoring me. I get all the bad luck... I consider bringing it up in my interview, but decide this might seem a little bit petty.

On the stage, Ceylon is literally being forced to sit down – she looks like she has no clue what is going on.

"Now, Ceylon," Frieda looks completely unsure as to what she should be saying, "How are you liking Capitol life?"

"It's Flint," Ceylon suddenly bursts out breathily, twisting her hands together and not raising her gaze from her lap.

"Flint?" Frieda, like the rest of us, has no clue what she's talking about.

"My name is Flint, not Ceylon. I don't like thinking about my three eyed father, and that name reminds me of him."

Three eyed father? Is this girl on drugs or something..?

"Your...? Right," Frieda say uncertainly, "so what about the arena, have you thought about any strategies yet?"

Flint raises her head at this, wearing a slightly puzzled expression on her features and I can't help but wonder for a moment if she comprehends the word 'strategy.'

She makes me jump as she suddenly pushes her chair back and launches to her feet, "I'll be like a man eating squirrel out there!"

She'll be like a what? I exchange an incredulous look with my district partner and then turn back to find Flint resuming her seat and carrying on her completely surreal conversation. She lowers her voice and says, "Well, actually... I won't eat men, and I probably won't actually turn into a squirrel. But it's fun to imagine that something like that might actually happen."

This interview is gold.

"I actually thought I saw a man eating squirrel once before, but it turned out to just be a regular squirrel." At this declaration the audience fall into absolute hysterics and some of the tributes splutter as well. I just about manage to hold myself together, but I can see Aaron shaking and crying with laughter at the other end of the row of tributes.

Flint looks towards Frieda as if she's expecting another question, but I think Frieda is having difficulty trying to contain her own laughter and so, credit to Flint, she ploughs on and conducts her own interview.

"What do you like doing back home Flint?" she asks herself, adopting a slightly higher pitched tone. I have to dig my fingernails into my palm to stop myself exploding with laughter at this display.

"My favourite hobby is cloud watching," I can't say I'm much surprised about this, "I wrote a song about it actually."

Oh dear.

"I like watching the clouds in the sky, suspended up there so high, I don't like it when I'm stuck in my house..." here she trails off and laughter finally escapes from my chest as she exclaims her final line, "Oh look, there's a mouse!"

A hysterical attendant shows her back to her seat before the buzzer goes off and I feel bad for the next couple of tributes because the audience is clearly still reminiscing over Flint's interview – it's certainly going to be one that sticks in people's minds. Because it was the most ridiculous thing that anyone has ever heard.

And then I realise that I'm amongst the next couple of tributes so I cross my fingers and hope that everyone will have settled down by the time I take to the stage.

Luckily, for the most part they have, although I can still hear the odd guffaw during Sita's interview and there are some titters as I climb the stairs. Although that could easily be directed at me and my outfit rather than Flint.

"It's lovely to meet you," Frieda tells me as I take my seat, and she holds out a hand for me to shake.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other," I tell her determinedly as I realise her hand and I shoot a glance towards the audience to make sure they understand my meaning.

"You think you have a good chance of winning then?"

"I don't just _think _that I've got a good _chance_ of winning. I'm going to win, because I don't really have any other option," I say, clenching my jaw to let everyone know that I'm completely serious about my words.

"And why is that then? There are plenty of strong competitors, what makes you think that you're better than them?"

"Because I have someone that I'm fighting for. My girlfriend, Amy. There's no way I'm letting her watch me die. I'll make it back, and then we'll live comfortably with my winnings for the rest of my life." My voice rings out loudly through the room and I try to inject my love for her into that speech so that she'll know how I feel as she watches back home. I can picture her now; her hand on the screen, trying to encourage me to have confidence. I do – that's what I'm telling her in this interview. She must know that everything I'm saying is for her.

"Tell us about Amy."

"There's so much I could tell you, because I know everything about her – all the inconsequential things that wouldn't matter much to anyone else but mean the world to me. But you should know that she's the most loving, caring person that I've ever been lucky enough to meet. For some reason, she loves me just as much as I love her, and I don't plan on letting her down." I need her to know that I'm coming home.

* * *

Ok, so I did want to get out loads of chapters during the holidays because, surprisingly, I don't have much homework. But then I got ill... Because it's winter, and it's some unspoken law that you _have _to get ill. So I don't think this chapter is the best thing that I've ever written, but I wanted to get something out because I really want to get onto the actual Hunger Games. So, apologies if it isn't that great! Only one more chapter now before the arena. :)

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? We have choices to make, we have promises that we can't break, there is nothing left to lose.


	21. The Interviews: Part Three

**Lien Axford, District 9.**

I try to hide my complete and utter boredom from the audience as I examine my nails and try to block out the inane chatter coming from the mouths of the other tributes. It's really no wonder that the Capitol citizens are starting to grow restless – I've been bored out of my mind ever since that blonde haired porcelain doll from District 1 took to the stage.

They've all just blurred into one huge mass in my mind – nothing that makes any of them stand out or appeal to the crowd in any way. I'm glad that I ignored the advice of my mentors and stuck to my own strategy; Trevor would have been proud of me if he could see how I was taking my life into my own hands.

I flick the end of my braid off my shoulder and glance down at my outfit with distaste. The lack of originality of my stylist is absolutely astounding; I am basically wearing the exact same outfit as I had for the opening ceremonies, except the dress is slightly shorter and the boots slightly taller. I don't see the point in shoving me into a ridiculously short dress like this. I feel horribly exposed in front of everyone, and it completely clashes with the angle I'm trying to play. I'm innocent and sweet, not sexy and sultry... I leave that to the tributes like Sasha, who are too stupid to act any other way than their shallow selves.

I try and suppress a smirk as I think back to the Gamemakers faces during my scoring session. They had obviously sat through a stream of pointless tributes who were dealing with a serious lack of personality and so I had decided to awaken their interest.

_And it obviously worked, _I can't help thinking now, _I mean, look at that eight. _

I think back to two days ago and the shock on their faces as I had shown them my 'skills.'

"_Look, I'm not going to bother showing you my skills with weapons and stuff, because get real – I don't actually have any. I am a thirteen year old girl with arms the size of twigs and you probably think that I don't stand a chance in hell. But let me tell you now, I'm not planning on actually have to _need _any weapons skills in the arena – because I'm not planning on fighting. You might have noticed that I have three of the strongest tributes as my allies and I'm going to let them do all the fighting for me, while I look cute and win us some sponsors."_

Then I had left the room. Even when I had seen the look of surprise being passed around the Gamemakers, I still hadn't been sure that my gamble had paid off. But then I had seen my score, and it became apparent to me that they liked a chancer.

Honestly though, none of these other tributes would've had the brains to think something like that up, and I'm one of the youngest out of them. I just find it stupid that the majority of them are showing off their mediocre talents, and getting mediocre scores to match. I reckon that people only actually take notice of the really good ones, or the ridiculously bad ones. And I think that a thirteen year old girl with an eight will definitely stand out in a sea of average tributes.

The boy from eight blabs on about his girlfriend, or his wife or something and I almost sigh with relief when his monologue finally comes to an end as the buzzer goes off.

"Lien Axford next please!" Is anyone as bored of these interviews as I am? I mean seriously, the Capitol audience cannot possible be enjoying this as much as they are making out.

I stand up and tug at the bottom of the dress, trying to act modest and innocent – I really need these people to feel for me. After all, I promised my allies that I would be bringing in the sponsors, so I need to make sure that it will actually happen.

I arrange my features into an anxious smile and sit down opposite Frieda, doing my best to look awkward and uncomfortable.

"It's lovely to meet you Lien," she tells me with an encouraging smile.

"Thank you," I reply politely – and the expression on her face tells me that she's eating this up like honey.

"Are you nervous about the Games?"

"A little bit I suppose, but I'm still feeling hopeful," I simper, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes as I speak and the audience 'aww' in response to my words.

"There's hope for everyone going into the arena – do you think you have a chance?"

_No actually, I was thinking about just rolling over and letting myself get killed..._

"I think I could do – if I had enough sponsors. Without them, I doubt I'll last very long." I force myself to think of Trevor so that my eyes tear up – nothing else works when I need to pretend I'm crying, but his honest, brave face will do it every time.

Then I quickly brush the tears off my cheeks and suck in a big shaky breath, pushing Trevor from my mind. I'm not trying to look like a bawling little baby – I need to seem like I would actually be worth sponsoring.

"I know that I want to win – and I'll do whatever it takes. I'm going to be strong," I get these words out before she can ask another question, because I'm not sure that my last answer really made me look that good.

"I'm sure you will be. I guess you want to see your family again?"

_Right, now I'm supposed to ramble on about how much I love my family. _The thing is, though, that I can't gush about my parents. I could have spoken about Trevor for hours if I had known that he was back home, staring at the screen and rooting me on. But I can't talk about my family without talking about him, and I'm not prepared to do that on this stage. After all, Trevor was fighting _against _the Capitol, and so they don't deserve to hear about how amazing he was. But then again – if I'm really accepting their challenge just as he did, then I need to do everything I can in order to survive. And if that means talking about Trevor and show that I'm a devoted, and heartbroken, sister then that's what I'll do.

"Of course I do. But someone would still be missing even if I did make it back home," I say softly, casting a swift glance towards the audience to check that they're still eating up my words.

"And who would that be then?"

"My big brother, Trevor. He means the world to me – but he died and now..." I lock my jaw into place and stare out at my audience, wanting them to see that I'm actually planning to fight for this, unlike the others who have practically given up already and are just prepared to sit back and not make an impact, "Now I know that I have to win this. Because I don't plan on leaving my parents without any children."

My buzzer goes off and I smile to myself, because my interview couldn't have finished at a stronger moment.

I walk slowly back to my chair, my head hanging down to make myself to desolate and sad. I have to work hard to stop myself from taking a peek at the audience to gauge their reaction to my words.

"Griffin Ashlock now please!"

I glare at him as he passes by me – I hate how he has figured out the truth completely about me; I can read it in his eyes whenever he looks at me. He's suspicious of me, and knows that I'm playing some kind of game. I brush it from my mind – his ally clearly thinks he's a complete idiot and so I doubt she'll believe what he says about me. It doesn't matter even if he does, because he hasn't exactly got the chance to tell my allies.

I watch him now as he takes his seat on stage, his familiar daft grin spread across his face.

"Can I just say something?" he suddenly asks, and I wince slightly in anticipation – I feel certain that he's going to declare his undying love for Samura or something equally stupid.

"Sure," Frieda looks slightly put out by this, but she's not great at exerting any kind of control over the tributes so she can't stop him.

Griffin raises his head to look at the Gamemakers, "I just wanted to know if you took points off because I had face paint on. I feel I would've gotten a much better score if I hadn't been painted like cat – you probably couldn't take me seriously like that."

Cue a huge burst of laughter from the audience – and I roll my eyes as I even see a slight smile cross the face of the head Gamemaker. Why do I seem to be about the only person who can see through Griffin's imbecilic charm?

"Painted like a cat?" Frieda demands, "I'm sure there's a story behind that we'd all love to hear."

Griffin just laughs, "Let's just say that I was trying to cheer somebody up. And I'd like to add that it worked."

"So a cat for your training session and now you're a deer. Animals are certainly a dominant theme."

I'm glad she pointed that out because those antlers on the top of his head make me feel incredibly glad that I didn't get his stylist.

Griffin chuckles again, and I can tell that his open smile is putting the crowd at ease – they're definitely warming to him, and this annoys the hell out of me. "Hmmm – a cat and a deer don't sound very deadly, do they? Perhaps I can pretend the cat was a tiger – that might make me seem more threatening," _you're about as threatening as a dying puppy, _"but I don't think there's any way I'll live down the deer." _No, that's right – you won't._

"Hmm, you could say with that costume that you've gone from being the hunter, to being the prey. Is that the case?"

Griffin looks slightly taken aback and his features harden ever so slightly, which surprises me because I didn't think he was capable of showing any emotion except happy-go-lucky. "I don't like to think that's true – I'm sure I'll put up a pretty good fight once I get into the arena. I was born a hunter so I think I've got a pretty big edge over the other tributes. Maybe they should be the ones wearing a deer costume." With this he reaches up and yanks the antlers from the top of his head and throws an angry look towards the audience. I'd seen this look from him all week whenever he saw something decadent, and wasteful but I hadn't thought he would show this emotion in the interview. Shame he hadn't actually said anything – that would have meant one less tribute to worry about in the arena.

**Rivka Locklier, District 12.**

I yank up the bodice of my dress again; it's slipping worryingly low and I really don't want to expose myself in front of the whole of Panem. It wouldn't exactly give confidence to my family watching back home and I don't want them to be more upset than they must already be.

I glance sideways at Harrow – how come he gets to wear a simple black tuxedo and I have to wear this dress? It's so tight across my legs that I can barely even stand in it, let alone walk, and I don't want to make a fool of myself. Harrow shoots me a reassuring smile and I can't help thinking, for the millionth time, how different he is to his brother, Reid. Not just in terms of looks – though you would never guess that they were related because of their completely contrast in terms of hair colour and skin tone – but their personality too. They're both exceedingly polite, and sweet, but Harrow is just so quiet. He's quite like Raviv in that respect, whereas Reid has always been more confident.

I sigh and stare out at the crowd. I'm still shocked that this is actually going to happen – the whole idea of the Games is completely ghastly and when they first announced it I thought that they couldn't possibly be serious. Locking 24 kids in an arena and forcing them to fight to the death... I still had no idea how that was going to work.

I keep thinking that I can't kill people – well, not that I _can't _but more that I _won't. _I mean, there's a lot of different between throwing a spear at a cloth dummy and throwing it at someone who has feelings and a family. Not that I can throw a spear anyway. The way that Harrow and Ol casually talk about it confuses me so much – like killing is an inevitability. But I can run fast enough – if I never stop moving then I never have to kill anyone. I'm fairly sure my speed is how I somehow got a good score from the Gamemakers.

I have allies though – and while I wouldn't risk myself stupidly for them, I couldn't just run away and leave them behind. Especially not Harrow – if I made it home then Reid would kill me. After all, friendship loyalties only stretch so far and I know that he'll be rooting for Harrow. District 12 citizens lead a harsh life, and so it's easy for us to make harsh choices.

I glance along the row of tributes and find Olive twiddling her thumbs nervously. I try to stop the smile that threatens to break out across my face at the sight of her nervousness.

"Next up is Misha Rolanksy!" My head snaps up and I glance at him curiously as he walks onto the stage. There's something about Misha that absolutely terrifies me, especially since I saw the way his temper snapped and he reacted to Yari. Not that Yari doesn't irritate me too, but at least I can control my temper around him. Misha seems slightly unstable to me, and instability and an arena full of weapons doesn't exactly seem like a great combination to me.

There's also something about the way he doesn't wear shoes that panics me slightly – it has me envisaging him creeping silently around in some bushes and jumping out at people. I shudder and force myself to concentrate on his interview; the only way that I can hope to beat him is to find out about him. And then run away if he ever comes anywhere near me in the arena.

In any other circumstance, he's the kind of person I would want to help - there's something about the pain hidden just behind his eyes that has me wondering what has happened to him - but in this environment I'm trying to stop myself feeling pity for the other tributes because pity isn't going to help me get back to my family.

Misha takes his seat and fixes his piercingly green eyes on Frieda. I can't help but smile slightly at the anxious look on her face, but this is only because I'll scream if I don't laugh – she's scared of him and she's in a perfectly safe environment... What does that mean for the rest of us?

"The first thing I want to ask about is your training score, a ten is certainly impressive! Do you think this gives you a pretty good chance of winning?"

Misha narrows his eyes slightly, "Of course it gives me a good chance of winning. Only one tribute managed to get higher than me. I'd say that makes me a front runner." He says all this in a monosyllabic voice, that makes him seem bored and like he couldn't really care less about this interview. Only someone as intimidating as him could pull this off.

"Any strategies for the Games?"

"Stay alive?" he replies sarcastically, "I'm going to avoid making alliances because that puts you in a weak position and I'm going to take out the other tributes. Starting with the ones who annoy me the most."

That would be Yari then. I would feel bad for him, but after what he did to Olive I'm finding it hard to evoke any pity for him. He's a fool for volunteering anyway – he's ruined his own life.

"Any hints as to who those tributes are?" Frieda asks while I see the other tributes exchange knowing glances. Everyone knows that it's Yari. Although, he did say tribute_s _so I wonder who the others are?

"You'll have to wait until we get into the arena to find that out," he says, with a bland smile on his face. A thrill of terror surges through me and I glance over at Harrow again.

"You alright?" he mouths with a soft smile on his face. I feel safer whenever I think of Harrow and his nine – only one less than Misha so Harrow must be strong. Anyway, I only got an eight myself. Still, if I knew I was going to be alone in that arena I would be screaming pretty damn loudly right now. I realise Harrow is watching me anxiously and I nod my head jerkily.

"I think so," I mouth back and then turn around again.

Frieda has just finished asking Misha about his family and I start violently as his expression darkens suddenly and he clenches his fists tightly against his legs.

"You want to know about my family?" he erupts angrily and the whole room instantly falls silently; I can tell the audience don't want to miss a single word of this. "Why don't you just head on over to my rooms and you can ask my mother about our family? Oh wait, she won't be able to answer you because you ripped out her tongue and made it so she could never talk again. Or maybe you could ask the woman who runs the orphanage how my sister's doing now. Or-" He's cut off as a crowd of peacekeepers suddenly dart across the stage and converge on him. He's still shouting something though, even when they force him brutally to the ground.

I wince in pity as they yank him to his feet and lead him off the stage – everyone is shocked into silence as we can still hear his screams echoing from behind the curtain.

What was he thinking, erupting like that? But if what he said was true, about his mother being an avox... Even imagining what they go through makes me feel nauseous. Someone ripping out your tongue, and then you're forced to serve the people who did it for the rest of your life.

I wonder why it happened to Misha's mother. I wish now that I had made an effort to approach him during the training, but what would I have said? Ok, I think you're slightly insane, but I'm sure there's a reason for it. Do you want to talk?

Yeah, perhaps not. Raviv always tells me off because I find it hard to see the bad in people, even when they have fits of rage in front of the whole of Panem and are probably working hard to think of ways to kill me.

I'm so preoccupied considering the idea of avoxes and trying to work out why Misha mentioned an orphanage in his raving that I miss Chall's interview. It's probably a good thing anyway; with her sweet little smile and blonde hair she reminds me a little bit too much of Lita and I found it hard enough to look at her during training.

I certainly don't want to hear a sweet little twelve year old girl discuss her strategies for killing people in the arena. Can't the audience see how twisted this is? Surely I can't be the only one who this makes no sense to. But then I suppose that it doesn't really concern them – we're just a source of entertainment for the Capitol. It isn't like they are under any risk of getting thrown into the arena themselves.

"Yari Meadows is next!" Frieda says, somewhat shakily. I don't think she's quite recovered from Misha's outburst yet, and I can't blame her – I'm having trouble getting over it myself. But I want to pay attention during Yari's interview because part of me hopes that he messes up. It makes me so annoyed when I think of the way he humiliated Olive. Idiot.

I can't help but snort a tiny bit as I see him on the stage – in his green waistcoat and pointy little hat he looks more like an elf than ever, and Harrow shoots me an approving glance. He absolutely despises Yari.

"Well, don't you look like a little elf?" Frieda practically croons at him like he's about six years old. To be fair to her, he doesn't look much older than that. But her question instantly puts his back up.

"Not really. You know, people say that to me all the time but I've never seen the resemblance myself." He retorts bitterly, glaring at the audience as if daring them to laugh at him. I can't help but hope that they do.

Frieda smiles, "So what do you say to those people who call you an elf?"

"It's not so much what I say than what I do that makes them regret it." Oh dear, he's trying to sound all macho and angry, and it isn't really coming across very well. He's too short to act like a tough guy, especially compared to some of the other tributes.

"Oh right. And why, may I ask, did you volunteer?" Frieda asks, working hard to keep her face straight.

"Because I want to prove to everyone that's ever called me an elf that I'm not just a short little boy, but that I'm strong and that I can fight. I'm going to get home, and dare people to ever call me that again. I'll bet that they won't be able to, they'll just be too intimidated."

The idea of anyone ever being intimidate of Yari causes a splutter of laughter to escape my throat and I quickly clamp my hands over my mouth while I feel eyes turn in my direction. Oops.

I couldn't help it, I mean who does this kid think he is?

* * *

Ok, just one more chapter until we reach the arena. Is anyone else as excited as I am? :)

The tribute with the most votes at the end of interviews will be the one that Felicity chooses to sponsor.

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _Close comes the winter, summer is no longer and things, they seem much bleaker._


	22. The Interviews: Part Four

**Harrow Followill, District 12.**

These interviews have been an absolute nightmare – it was hard enough having to contemplate killing these people before, but now that I actually know stuff about them it's going to be almost impossible. Well, nearly impossible because I'm still feeling fairly sure that I would manage to kill Yari if he came anywhere near me in the arena.

I'm still smiling at Rivka's outburst of laughter during his interview; she's so silent most of the time and she picked the interviews in front of thousands of people to change this. She's growing quieter again now though, because it's almost her turn. Our mentors told her to act sweet and friendly but I'm still not sure if this is the best angle for the interviews which precede killing people – surely sweet and friendly won't win sponsors. Although, I guess that Lien girl acted innocent and it seemed to work well enough for her.

I force myself to remember a page of my textbook back home to help keep me calm as the nerves build inside me again; it's not necessarily nerves about the interview because, while I might not be the most confident person in the world, I'm fairly sure that I'm capable of talking about myself for a few minutes. But my stomach clenches unbearably whenever I think about what's going to happen tomorrow – by this time tomorrow evening I could be dead... But I don't like to think about that, because I don't think Rivka and Olive will be able to last very long without me, and if I don't win then one of them needs to.

"Let's welcome Rivka Locklier to the stage!" the interviewer booms loudly and my nervousness surges again. I try to give what I hope is an encouraging smile but she looks so pale that for a moment I feel worried that she's going to pass out. Thankfully the moment passes and she makes her way over to the stage on dangerously wobbling legs.

I see her face twist in annoyance as she sits though, and I suspect it's that dress; she's been complaining about it ever since they forced her into it and I can't say that I particularly blame her because it seems fairly inconvenient. At least it didn't trip her over though, because I know she was worried about that.

"It's lovely to meet you Rivka," Frieda says kindly but Rivka's face just pales even further in reaction.

_Come on Rivka; show everyone what a sweet person you are. Win us some sponsors please. _Though Olive did surprisingly well in her interview, I doubt it was enough to get her any sponsors in comparison to some of the other tributes who have spoken tonight and who are all together more memorable. And I know that I won't look very good to this audience – I'm not the greatest public speaker in the world. I didn't want to tell Rivka, but our hopes pretty much lie on her shoulders.

"Hello," she manages to squeak out, but she drops her gaze as she speaks. One thing I've learnt about Rivka during this week is that she does _not _like making eye contact with people. It's strange really; she's been coming to my house for years with Reid and Melba but I never really paid attention to her. I've come to know more about her in just a few days than I had in my whole lifetime.

"No need to be so nervous," Frieda tells her with a grin (which I personally don't really think will help Rivka so I wish she hadn't said it), "I'm going to start off by asking you about your time so far in the Capitol. What have you enjoyed the most?"

Rivka twists her fingers together and remains silent; I will her to just speak. _Say anything Rivka, as long as you speak._

"Chocolate," Rivka suddenly says, making the audience laugh, "I used to love it, but now we can hardly ever get it back home. But here they have so many different types."

I smile, remembering her face when she had seen the chocolate puddings that first night on the train – her eyes had brightened and she had practically thrown herself at the table. Then last night we had discovered that machine in the living room; you just have to speak a food into it, and it's delivered straight away. We tried to find out how many different things you could get by just demanding "Chocolate." Turns out, quite a lot. My stomach still turns slightly at the thought of how much chocolate we managed to scoff – Rivka had eaten a lot more than me though, which is astonishing when you think about how much smaller she is.

"And what's your favourite kind of chocolate here then?"

"Hmm, probably the hot chocolate. I think I've had about three cups every day since we arrived. I'll probably experience withdrawal symptoms in the arena." Everyone laughs again and I feel a strange surge of pride as I watch her – she's doing far better than I could even have hoped for. Rivka has obviously decided to swallow her nerves and just get on with it.

"You mentioned home. Let's talk about your family."

Rivka nods determinedly; I know how important her family is to her. "I have two sisters – one who's older and just like me. Then a younger one who is the cheekiest little kid I know; she's an absolute nuisance but I love her all the same. And I have a brother – he's my twin actually."

"A twin, really? Do you have a secret language?"

Rivka laughs, "Not really. I don't think we need one – he always knows exactly what I'm thinking." My chest aches for her as her eyes sparkle with tears and she clenches her hands together tightly, "Love you Raviv," she whispers softly just as the buzzer goes off.

I think about how her brother must feel at home – think of how everyone here has a family who will be watching them and willing them on. How can the Capitol do this? I guess as punishments go, it's a fairly effective one because you can guarantee that this will crush everyone's spirit. Who would ever rebel again if they knew the punishment would be to have your kids thrown into the arena?

My nerves are replaced with anger as Frieda calls out my name, "Our last tribute is Harrow Followill!"

As I pass Rivka she stumbles slightly and my hand jerks out to grab her arm – I'm not having her stumble after she just put on such a good performance – and she smiles at me gratefully. "How did I do?" she whispers, her eye showing her panic that she didn't come across well enough.

I don't have enough time to reply so I just give her the thumbs up and hope that's enough.

"Harrow – our last tribute! Are you excited about being in the arena this time tomorrow?"

I feel like excited is a strange word to use when you're talking about being thrown into an arena to kill other children, but I guess that's where I differ vastly from the Capitol citizens. I'd rather try to save people than watch them die for my entertainment...

So I just shrug – what am I supposed to do? I don't want to start badmouthing the Games like Kelby did, or start raving so I get removed from the stage like Misha. I have my allies to think of, and myself as well, and something tells me that if you annoy the Capitol out here, they'll make your life a living hell in the arena. It's easier not to answer in my opinion.

But Frieda looks slightly annoyed by this, so I heave a sigh and answer, "I guess." _There, that's the best I can do without having to lie through my teeth._

"You got a pretty good score, so do you think you might be in with a chance?

"I reckon that everyone going into the arena has a chance," I mutter dully, because I don't like thinking about low my odds really are. For some reason this draws a slight titter of amusement from the audience and I realise that they don't like Frieda very much and so don't mind the fact that I'm slightly mocking her questions.

"Of course," she says smoothly, "but have you got any strategies that you think might give you the edge?"

"Well, if I did then I wouldn't be revealing them here in front of my fellow tributes, would I?" I retort, slightly sarcastically and am rewarded with another laugh from the audience. Seriously though, if she's going to ask these ridiculous questions then I have no option but to answer her like this. It makes it easier anyway because then I don't have to reveal too much about myself in front of the Capitol – I don't think they deserve to know about my life if they're planning to end it anyway.

"No, perhaps not. Shall we talk about your family now?"

"If you want." I really don't want to have to discuss my family with her – particularly not my mother, because I find it hard to even think about her without growing angry at how unfair life is. I was supposed to become a doctor so that I could stop something like that happening ever again but now that's not likely to happen, is it?

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yep, four." A look of infuriation passes over Frieda's face and I can't quite suppress the smug feeling that rises within my stomach. Serves her right for being from the Capitol; any annoyance I can bring to the lives of these people before I end up in the arena is time well spend in my eyes.

"Ok, names? Ages?"

I sigh heavily and say, "I have three little brothers, and a little sister. And I hate the fact that I'm not there to make them better when they get hurt anymore."

The buzzer goes off and I sigh in relief before stumbling back to my chair. I didn't want to say that last bit. I shouldn't have said that last bit. But I could picture my family sitting at home and I just needed to say something that would let them know that I was thinking of them. I know it will hurt them though, because it certainly didn't sound like I was planning to fight. It sounded like I had already given up.

Rivka smiles at me as I return to my seat and we turn our attention back to Frieda, "So, what an exciting group of tributes we have for the first ever Hunger Games! I bet everyone is just as excited as I am. Remember, the Games will be starting at 12.00 tomorrow so make sure you tune in and watch as the tributes begin to battle it out for victory. Enjoy your celebrations tonight and remember to choose a tribute to sponsor."

* * *

**Spectators III**

Felicity stares at the screen as the camera pans over the faces of the tributes; the scared ones, the enthusiastic ones, the beautiful ones, the bloodthirsty ones, the ones trying to prove something and the ones who don't really understand what's going on.

She claps her hands together in excitement as Frieda's words echo through her room; she can't believe that the Games are finally starting tomorrow and she gets to find out if her predictions about the tributes will come true. Will the strong ones actually be the best fighters? Will the attractive tributes get all the sponsors? Will those weak children be the first to die?

Felicity has no idea, but she certainly can't wait to find out. One thing is first though; she has to choose which tribute she will sponsor and root for during the Hunger Games.

She scans the screen hungrily as the tributes begin to relax now that their interviews are over. Her eyes keep getting drawn back to a certain tribute though. Not a tribute that got a good score or someone who excelled in the interviews. But someone who has fury hidden in her eyes.

Felicity meets the celery green eyes of Olive Pithy and makes her decision. "Mum, I know who I want to sponsor."

* * *

So, Olive has the most votes at the moment :) But there's really not a lot in it so remember to keep voting...

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? Once I wanted to be the greatest, no wind of waterfall could stall me, and then came the rush of the flood, stars of night turned deep to dust.


	23. The Bloodshed

_Day One_

All over Panem, teeth bite nails and butterflies quiver in stomachs, tears roll down cheeks and mouths tremble as the beginning the of the Hunger Games draws closer. Though the Districts may officially be against one another as their tributes compete for victory in the arena, they are united in their grief.

Every parent who has a child in the Games experiences the same gnawing terror that something will happen to their son or daughter.

Every girl or boy who has a brother or sister who is going into the arena feels that same pang of desperation and need for their sibling to come home.

Family and friends clutch at one another and stare at their television screens as the countdown to the commencement of the Games begins. Each one hoping that their loved one will return, but also knowing that if they do, chances are they'll never be the same again.

* * *

The clock strikes 12.00 and Felicity plonks herself excitedly down in front of the television, her heart racing with excitement; the first ever Hunger Games is finally about to begin.

"Welcome to the 1st of the annual Hunger Games!" the television announcer suddenly exclaims and Felicity gasps as the camera pans out across the arena, revealing the landscape where the tributes will be fighting for the first time.

The first thing Felicity notices is the huge castle shape at one end of the arena – it looks like something out of a fairytale with its swirling turrets and wide wooden door. The castle is surrounded by a sweep of soft green lawn that will provide little cover for the tributes. Felicity feels a thrill of excitement as her eyes spot the dark lake at the corner of the lawn and she wonders what horrors are hidden within its murky depths.

Surrounding the wide expanse of grass is a mass of trees and bushes that cast dark shadows onto the floor of the arena. Felicity predicts that the majority of the tributes will choose to stay in the forest because there they will be hidden.

The tributes begin to appear slowly from underneath the ground, dressed in simple black jacket, blue t-shirt and soft denim jeans, arranged in a circle in the middle of the lawn in front of a hulking great Cornucopia. Various supplies litter the ground around the horn, but Felicity notices that the majority of the useful stuff is piled right inside the horn. Only the strongest ones will be able to get their hands on it.

Some of the tributes exchange glances with each other; Kelby meets the eyes of Sasha with a determined gaze and Sasha's answering nod tells Felicity that these girls have something planned. Harrow smiles reassuringly at Rivka, the girl from his District and she locates Olive quickly; they must have an alliance. Yari glances edgily at the other tributes and his eyes are drawn towards the forest. "Welcome tributes, to the First Hunger Games. It will begin in sixty seconds. Please wait for the gong."

Aaron clenches his fists and Samura shifts restlessly on her metal plate, glaring at Zack who stands at the other side of the circle of tributes. Flint's eyes are trained on the clouds above her and Salima stands straight and proud, surveying the other tributes. Lien smiles sweetly and Griffin grins at Samura who stands just to the side of him. Misha's face is set into a hard line, while Kye's is determined. Felicity can't take her eyes of the screen for a single moment in case she misses something.

"Twenty seconds to go," a voice booms out and suddenly, shockingly, there's a second deafening boom coming from the screen and Felicity lets out a short squeal of excitement. The arena is full of smoke and several of the tributes are coughing. As the picture clears Felicity, and several of the tributes, gasp in shock as an empty metal plate becomes apparent. Who's missing? Felicity thinks back over the other tributes and the image of a grinning young boy pops into her head. It was Olive's district partner – he must have tried to step off the plate too quickly.

Felicity can see Olive's distress clearly now on the screen – she hopes this doesn't throw her off too much otherwise Felicity will have wasted her money by sponsoring her.

A gong suddenly goes off and most of the tributes glance at each other, their faces filled with confusion like they don't quite know that they're supposed to be doing.

Not Samura though, she darts off towards the cornucopia, obviously heading towards something in particular. Her movement seems to wake the other tributes up after the shock of the first explosion and Aaron steps off his own plate. Felicity gasps as he snaps the neck of the girl from District 6 who stands beside him. The crack resonates across the arena and the girl slumps to the ground.

Yari, who is the tribute on Aaron's other side takes one look at the huge blonde-haired boy and hightails it away into the forest behind him, not sparing a glance backwards at the other tributes. Felicity isn't surprised by this lack of cowardice.

Aaron then begins to run towards the Cornucopia and Felicity glances back at Samura who has grabbed a mace, a pack and a knife. To her surprise, it's Griffin who reaches the Cornucopia next, rather than Aaron, and Samura hands him the knife without a second thought and he takes his own pack. The boy from District 7 is sprinting in their direction and Samura barely even glances at him before she's picked up another knife and thrown it straight through his chest.

"We need to get going," Griffin says, gesturing towards the castle which looms above them.

"Not yet," Samura answers and Felicity searches for Zack amongst the other tributes, remembering how Samura had looked at him during the interviews.

Her attention is drawn away from this pair though, as Sasha and Aaron both reach the other side of the Cornucopia at the same time. Felicity's excitement rises as it becomes clear that they both have their sights set on the same knife. Aaron smirks and snatches the knife easily. Sasha just flicks her hair over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows at him while reaching for another knife.

"I didn't think I'd be able to take you down quite this quickly," he says, taking a menacing step towards her. To Felicity's astonishment, Sasha actually stands her ground rather than running away.

"You haven't taken me down yet," she retorts and Felicity sees her glance over Aaron's shoulder. Her body sags slightly as her eyes land on something and Felicity leans closer to the screen. The camera moves away from them though and over to Flint, Kelby and Chall. The massive boy from District 1 has Flint pinned to the ground and her face is going blue as he attempts to choke the life out of her. Felicity watches in suspense as Kelby tries desperately to pull the boy off Flint – she doesn't want Flint to die this early; she's good for entertainment.

The camera shoots back to Aaron and Sasha. Felicity watches in amazement as Sasha kicks Aaron between his legs, snags a pack and sprints over to where Flint is lying. Aaron doubles up and swears explosively as Sasha disappears from his view.

Sasha barrels into the boy's shoulders and he falls off Flint with a thud – Sasha must be stronger than she looks – and Felicity watches as Sasha sucks in a deep breath. "Do it, Sash," Kelby says firmly, watching the boy with distaste as he squirms on the floor.

Sasha doesn't need telling twice, and she plunges the knife down into his heart; he made the mistake of trying to take down tributes before going to get any weapons. He never had any chance against Sasha's knife, which Felicity feels is quite a shame because he looked strong enough to go further.

The four girls grab each other and stumble towards the forest, Flint still struggling for breath as she tries to keep up with the others.

The camera then pans back to Aaron who has just been greeted by Lien and Kye and they begin to grab any useful supplies that they can see.

"Where's Rocco?" Aaron demands, clearly still angrily about how Sasha escaped from him.

"Sasha killed him," Lien says disinterestedly, searching through the supplies. Felicity wonders how she managed to end up in an alliance with two of the strongest tributes out of the lot. She won't exactly bring much to the table.

Aaron just growls in fury and yanks a spear sticking out from the top of the pile. Felicity feels a surge of excitement at the expression on his face as he glances wildly round at the other tributes. He seems to decided on a victim and his spear goes sailing through the air and straight into the shoulder of the girl from District 8. Kye shows no reaction that his ally just tried to take down the other tribute from his District.

Aaron grabs another spear and dashes towards the girl who is trying desperately to crawl away from him towards the forest. The camera follows him and Felicity watches as she stands over the girl; she's sobbing urgently and she looks up at him with terrified eyes, "Please don't kill me... please... I could... I could join your alliance, or..." she can barely breathe, she's so scared and Aaron clearly isn't in the mood to take pity on her. He wants to take out his anger with Sasha on her.

"Sorry, but you wouldn't really be that much use to me," he tells her with a shrug and Felicity winces as he thrusts the spear brutally through her tiny body.

The camera darts back over to focus on Samura and Griffin who are heading determinedly towards Zack who's attempting to chase down the boy from District 5 who keeps weaving away from him.

Samura steps deliberately in front of him and he comes to an instant halt. "What are you doing?" he asks slightly impatiently. Griffin shifts the knife in his hand and eyes the other tributes, obviously watching Samura's back in case anyone else tries to take a pop at her while she's distracted by Zack.

Samura doesn't answer him, simply swings her mace at his shoulder with a grim look on her face. Felicity jumps in surprise as Zack stops it with a sword that she never saw him get; he must have gone to the Cornucopia while the camera wasn't on him. Felicity leans towards the screen but isn't quite sure who she's rooting for. All she knows is that this is the closest anyone has come to an epic battle so far.

Griffin starts to take a step forward but Samura shoots his an angry glance and he stops – he clearly isn't allowed to intervene in this fight. Felicity can't wait to find out why Samura hates Zack so much.

She swings her mace again, this time aiming for his head, and Zack immediately brings his blade up to block her. She smirks at him though, and her mace changes direction midway through the air, heading for his side again.

Zack lets out a howl of pain as the mace collides with his ribs and he struggles to hold on to his sword as he doubles over in pain.

"Idiot," Samura spits viciously, kicking him brutally in the shin.

"What's your problem?" Zack hisses through teeth that are clearly clenched in pain, "crazy bitch."

Anger passes over Griffin's face at this, and Samura can't stop him from intervening this time.

"What did you say?" he demands furiously, brandishing his knife in Zack's direction.

Samura turns her flaming eyes on Griffin, "I told you to stay out of it – he's mine." She gives Griffin a quick shove and turns back to Zack. But it doesn't seem like the shove was meant to hurt – in fact, it looked kind of like a playful shove which seems strange coming from a fuming girl in the middle of the Hunger Games. Once again, Felicity wonders if there actually is something going on between the two of them.

No time to ponder over that now though because Samura is taking another swing at Zack who does nothing but duck out of the way. This turns out to be a mistake, because Samura easily forces him to the ground with anther swift kick.

She kneels over him, and pulls a knife from her belt. "This is for my mum," she hisses at Zack and Felicity gasps in suspense. Zack is done for.

Samura holds her knife between trembling hands and Zack's chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and squirm away from her. Her hold on his neck must be like iron though because he can't move anywhere.

The tension rises and Felicity waits for something to happen. Her attention is slightly distracted as she sees Misha at the Cornucopia in the background and he picks up a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

"What are you waiting for?" Zack demands as Samura still doesn't move.

Felicity's jaw drops open as a blonde figure darts out of know where and runs straight into Samura. Salima stands up and glances down derisively at Zack – she's clutching a blood stained rucksack but no weapon.

"Move," she practically shrieks at Zack who desperately scrambles to his feet and she gives him a harsh shove in the direction of the forest. They both take off, running towards the trees.

Samura glances up at Griffin, who's watching her with a confused expression on his face. Felicity feels that way too – why didn't she kill Zack when she had the chance?

"It was too easy," she mutters, "I wasn't supposed to find him that quickly." She and Griffin exchange a glance and it's clear that Griffin understands what she means, even if Felicity has no clue whatsoever. They dart back into the fray as does the camera which comes to land on Misha.

Misha has clearly set his sights on Rivka; the tribute who stands closest to him and he prepares an arrow. Felicity's head reels around wildly as Harrow starts running towards Misha, a bright orange pack on his shoulders and he shoves Misha just as he releases the arrow while Olive screams Rivka's name.

It's too late though – the arrow has been knocked off course but it still thuds into Rivka's arm. She emits a piercing shriek that captures the attention of Aaron's pack who are still gathered around the Cornucopia.

Felicity watches as Harrow glances between Aaron and Rivka, then sets off running towards her. He grabs her arm which makes her yell in pain again and Misha snarls as Harrow pulls her out of his eye line. He releases another arrow into the crumpled body of the boy from District 5 who is still moving weakly. He is stilled as the arrow enters his body.

Misha shoots yet another arrow towards Aaron and Kye, who have started moving towards him, and while it doesn't hit them, it's enough to give them a warning. Aaron and Kye stop and let Misha grab his vast collection of weapons and sprint into the forest. Felicity notices that he's taken his shoes off.

Only Samura, Griffin, Aaron, Kye and Lien remain on the lawn at this point and Samura and Griffin clearly decide that staying isn't worth it. It would still be two against three even though Lien wouldn't be much use. Anyway, Felicity notices that Samura is covered in bruises from when Salima had barrelled into her.

Griffin grabs Samura by the wrist and pulls in her in the direction of the castle. A cannon suddenly booms in the distance, followed by five more and Felicity remembers that this is the signal for a death.

For a moment, she doesn't understand if it means that six more people have died, or if that's the number who were killed in the initial fight. She assumes it's the latter, because surely the cameras would have shown if there had just been six more deaths.

"Should we go after them?" Kye demands, watching as Samura and Griffin disappear quickly into the distance.

"Not worth it," Aaron replies – Felicity suspects that he's eager to start hunting Sasha down, "anyway, I've just spotted a tribute that's much closer."

Felicity gasps as the camera locates the boy from District 6 peering around a tree just at the edge of the lawn. She wonders why he chose to hang around as Kye pelts in his direction, obviously wanting to prove himself in front of Aaron.

The boy sees him coming though and darts off into the woods, his feet pounding loudly against the floor, giving away his position to Kye who is closing in on him quickly. Felicity's heart is in her mouth as she watches the chase. Suddenly, the boy gets his feet entangled in some vines sprawled across the forest floor and he falls to the ground with a brutal thud. He's instantly scrambling around in the mud, trying desperately to clamber to his feet but there's a rustle in the bushes behind him.

Felicity watches, expecting to see Kye emerge, but instead it's a disgustingly huge, many legged black thing that comes scuttling out of the undergrowth. She gives a little shriek of horror as she realises that the thing is a huge spider. The boy yells in terror, and stumbles back, trying desperately to get away from the massive creature that's heading straight towards him.

His back bangs up against a tree trunk and he spins in horror; all around him is densely populated forest and a floor coated in knobbly roots that will be sure to trip him up.

More spiders start appearing from the bush and he's surrounded. Just then Kye appears in the small clearing in the trees; he takes one look at the mass of spiders and immediately spins on his heel and darts away again. Fortunately for him, the spiders are more concerned about their first victim and they converge on him suddenly, covering his body and muffling his screams of terror.

The cannon goes off.

The camera is instantly focusing back on the Cornucopia, where Kye has just sprinted out of the trees, covered in mud and with a wild look in his eyes.

"What happened?" Lien demands, instantly taking control of the situation.

"Spiders..." Kye pants out, struggling to stay standing he speaks, "there... were sp... spiders and they..."

"It doesn't matter," Lien snaps impatiently, "the important thing is that he's dead?"

Kye nods and sinks to his knees beside their collection of supplies. Felicity's surprised to see this display of weakness from him, but she assumes that he's just horrified by what he saw. She can't help feeling a bit disgusted herself – but these are the Hunger Games, people have to die or it wouldn't work.

Suddenly there's a whimper and Felicity glances back up at the screen in surprise. Lien, Aaron and Kye exchange glances and Aaron clutches his knife tightly as his eyes scan his surroundings.

"Where did that come from?" he hisses angrily, as they glance around nervously.

Lien disappears from view for a second before yelling out sharply, "Here! She was hiding in the Cornucopia."

Aaron darts to his feet and rushes over to where Lien is standing and the camera pans in on the scared face of the girl from District 10 who is cowering inside the Cornucopia. She had obviously planned to come out once everyone else had left. It would have been a clever plan, Felicity realises, but Lien, Aaron and Kye are clearly intent on staying here and keeping the supplies so it was never really going to work.

Aaron barely glances at her before running his knife across her neck. Blood pours out of the gaping wound and the camera zooms in on the self-satisfied smirk now on Lien's face as she watches the body slump to the ground and another cannon goes off.

"How many is that now?" she demands of the other two.

"Eight I think," Aaron says tightly as he returns to their pile of supplies. "Tomorrow we're going after Sasha, ok?"

Neither of the others argues with this, and Felicity doesn't blame them.

That's the action over for today, Felicity reckons – her limbs feel stiff from having been sat in the same position for so long and she stands up and stretches her aching arms and legs as the camera begins to show each group of tributes by turn.

Salima and Zack sit deep in the forest, their backs resting against tree stumps. Salima holds Zack's sword across her knees as he examines the damage that Samura did to his side. He attempts to bandage it clumsily as his breath comes in harsh gasps.

Samura and Griffin sit huddled on chairs in a vast hall filled with four long tables inside the castle, their weapons clutched tightly in their hands and their packs open on the tables, displaying a pitiful amount of food inside. Griffin smiles tightly at Samura, who simply stares back at him.

Olive sits watching as Harrow expertly removes the arrow from Rivka's arm as she bites her lips tightly to stop herself from crying out. Olive's eyes sparkle with tears as she watches the pain that her ally is in and silence reigns in their camp.

Sasha, Kelby, Flint and Chall sit around a softly crackling fire at the base of the tree, all four of them huddled in blankets and trying to keep a stilted conversation going. The bruises on Flint's neck stand out in the gentle flicker of the firelight.

Aaron, Kye and Lien sit beside the Cornucopia, surveying their plentiful supplies. Lien smirks at her companions as Kye pulls out several apples from a pile and begins handing them around. The crunching of apples echoes across the lawn.

Misha sits in a straw strewn room at the very top of the castle, a fire burning in the stone fireplace and his supplies lain around him, displaying just how much he managed to get his hands on. He munches on a bread roll and murmurs a name under his breath.

Yari sits crouched beside a bush, using it as shelter from the elements. He hums lightly to himself and rubs two stones together in order to make a fire, casting nervous glances around himself every so often, as if checking there's no one there.

Felicity studies the screen intently as each tribute is shown.

Eight tributes down and sixteen still standing. At this point, it could be anyone's game

* * *

Ok, so the Games have begun and voting is now _really _important. There are still two more of my own tributes to kill off, but then who dies next will be simply down to the amount of votes.

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _Breaking off is misery, I see a wilderness for you and me, punctuated by philosophy, I'm wondering how things could've bee_n.


	24. Witching Hour

_Day One_

**Griffin Ashlock, District 9.**

I bang my shoulder once more against the door, but still it doesn't budge. I decide that I probably should stop before I do something stupid and really hurt myself. We don't need both of us to be injured at the same time – Samura might say otherwise, but I know from the way she's moving that her bruises are hurting her. I wish that I had some kind of medical skill so I might be able to help her, but that's never really been my strong point.

"It still won't open?" she calls dully from her seat near the table.

She has barely spoken to me ever since Zack had gotten away from her and I can tell that she hates the fact that her hesitation has made her look weak. Throughout training I could see the anger on her face whenever Zack came anywhere near us, though she would never tell me why of course, but today I had seen the anger evaporate out of her as she held that knife above him. I wish I could tell her that not being able to kill someone hardly makes you a weak person.

I cross over to where she's sitting and plonk myself heavily down onto the table. "No, it's still stuck stiff." Though we'd been able to open the door and get into this hall which vaguely resembles a massive dining room, the door into what was obviously the main part of the castle is locked stiff. I can't help feeling pretty exposed out here though, knowing that there are still tributes stationed at the Cornucopia which is worryingly near to the front door.

"There must be keys or something somewhere, why would they have a whole castle you can't get into?" Samura says impatiently, clearly growing frustrated with the fact that so far, I've proven to be a fairly useless ally.

"Maybe there's a passageway outside or something," I suggest, not really believing in my own theory, and we both fall silent.

"Samura?" I ask finally, as the silence stretches out unbearably between us.

She glances up at me with cold eyes, "What?" she demands angrily. From what I've come to learn about Samura this week, she's the kind of person who prefers being left alone with their thoughts. This doesn't work well with me seeing as I can't stand any silence and frequently make pointless conversation to avoid awkward situations.

"Don't worry too much about Zack, I'm sure we'll find him again," I say, but even as I speak I'm uncertain as to why I'm saying this – I have no desire to go hunting round in the forest looking for some boy who's probably close to death anyway; I saw the damage that Samura's mace had done to his side. So I quickly add, "Or maybe he'll just die by himself and we won't need to." I still can't quite believe that I'm able to talk so casually about other teenagers dying, but it's easier to pretend that this isn't really happening than drive myself insane contemplating it all the time. That's not going to help me, or Samura.

"That's what I'm worried about," she mutters and I feel my jaw drop as I watch her. I know that I saw her throw her knife through that boy from District 7 without even a second look at him but I had just assumed that was in the heat of the battle. But deliberately going after a certain tribute and hoping that nothing else kills him first? I don't think that's something that I'm on board with.

"Why do you hate him so much?" I blurt out suddenly, regretting it instantly as Samura turns her icy glare on me.

"It doesn't matter. _I'll _go after him and you can just wait here – it isn't your problem."

"I thought we were supposed to be allies," I mutter sullenly and turn my eyes back towards the door.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Griffin – after all, you were such a helpful ally today," she hisses, narrowing her eyes at me, "don't ever step in on my battles again, ok? I don't need you to defend me."

I don't understand why she's acting so angry with me; that Zack boy had infuriated me – and I don't usually lose my temper that easily but I had hated the way he had insulted her. I guess I've learned my lesson – never trying and protect a girl with the shortest temper in the world.

"I wasn't trying to _defend _you," I snap back, "I just felt like I should say something because I-"

"Shut up," she suddenly snaps and I clench my fists in frustration.

"You can't just tell me to shut up," I reply angrily, my voice rising as I speak, "seriously, who do you-"

"I said shut up," she mutters viciously, "don't you have ears?" She looks scared now and that's what makes me close my mouth and swallow my next angry retort.

"I don't-" and that's when I hear it – a voice coming from somewhere inside the castle. I glance over at Samura, my heart starting to accelerate within my chest, "Someone got in?"

"I don't understand," she whispers, staring with a blank expression towards the door that remains firmly locked.

I hear the voice again; it still sounds fairly distant at this point, but it's definitely coming from within the castle. I drop my hand to the knife at my belt, and grip the handle tightly. "Should we move?" I ask her, when the silence stretches out for a little while and the voice doesn't sound again. I'm assuming that there must be more than one person though, unless someone has snapped and started talking to themselves. I have to admit that if I was by myself in here, I would probably be doing exactly that.

But I get no response from her – she sits staring at the door with a worryingly blank expression on her face. It's almost impossible to read the emotions brewing within her dark eyes and I sit down beside her, and lean in. I need to say something, anything, that might draw her out of herself.

"Samura, I-" I jump violently to my feet as I feel a tickle of breath on my neck, and the chair falls to the stony ground with a deafeningly loud crash. I spin round, my heart practically in my mouth and I draw the knife from my belt.

My jaw drops as I see the vast empty space behind me, and my head whirls back to Samura, who's watching me with a puzzled expression on her face. I scan the room desperately, expecting to see another tribute looming at me from one of the corners, even if I know it's impossible because we would have heard if anyone had entered the room.

"Griffin, what-" Samura starts saying, but then she starts to her feet as well, grasping at the handle of her mace which is lying on the table. She glances around her, eyes flickering around the room.

"Did you feel it too?" she demands, watching me with an anxious expression on her face.

"Yeah, it was like someone was breathing on the back of my neck," I reply, my voice rising slightly in panic and I sigh as I realise how stupid I must look in front of any potential sponsors who are watching this. Moira will not be impressed with me – it must look like I'm going slightly insane.

She nods and her eyes continue to roam rapidly around the room. "There's no one here," she says after about five minutes of deathly silence, and I nod my head in agreement.

"Maybe it was..." I trail off, because I have no clue what it might have been and then I feel it again; cold and clammy breath on the back of my neck. I start suddenly, and whip my head back round again. There's still nothing behind me and I bite my lip to stop my teeth chattering together as a cold gust of air suddenly blasts through the room.

Samura and I glance expectantly towards the front door, assuming that it will have blown open and that's how a tribute managed to get in. But when my eyes land on it, they find it still bolted firmly into place, exactly how we had shut it behind us.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice sounds brutally loud as it echoes off the walls of the room.

"There's clearly no one here," Samura snaps nastily, returning to her seat as the wind dies down, leaving a silent void within the room instead.

My heart rate finally begins to slow down as the silence stretches on, and Samura's fingers finally drop from the handle of her mace, her head drops down slightly onto her chest.

"I'll take the first watch," I announce suddenly as I spot the dark shadows beginning to appear under her eyes and I realise that the brutal fall she'd taken earlier must have had more of an impact on her that I'd first thought. I'm slightly annoyed that even after the way she just spoke to me, I still have this stupid need to protect her. It's made worse by the fact that I know she doesn't really want, or need, me to.

"No, I don't need..." she yawns, and looks frustrated as her sentence is cut off, "need to sleep just yet. You can..." another yawn interrupts her flow and I bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing at her.

"Yeah, you really do seem wide awake," I say lightly, making sure she can hear the sarcasm in my voice, "but I still think it would be better if I took the first watch."

For a second I think she's about to protest again, and I ready myself for an argument, but then she simply shrugs and rests her head on the table beside her.

I perch the knife across my legs and keep my eyes trained on the wide front door; despite the fact that it's bolted, after everything that's happened tonight I can't help feeling slightly on edge, particularly because there are still frequent blasts of wind that rattle the door. I can't stop myself from wondering how that gust of wind earlier actually got into the room, but we are in the Hunger Games after all, and I don't doubt that they can do whatever they choose to with the weather.

Just as I'm starting to relax for the first time since we entered the arena, I feel that strange breath again, but on my cheek this time and the knife slips to the ground with a crash as I lose control of it.

Samura starts awake, and eyes me in annoyance. "What are you doing?" she demands, glancing at the knife lying beside her chair.

"Nothing, I just thought that I-"

I'm cut off as the voice sounds again; it's close enough this time for me to hear that it is a woman's voice and she's getting closer. It doesn't sound like any of the other tributes that I can remember though, but then I guess I didn't make that much effort to memorise the sound of their voices.

But as I'm bending down to pick up my knife, the voice sounds again. It's not quite words, more like a strange, echoing moan that reverberates through the room but it sounds as if it's coming from directly behind me. Once again though, I see nothing as I twist my head around and a growl of frustration rises from my throat.

I hear a strange whimper from behind me though and I spin back around. There's no one there apart from Samura, but she's wearing an expression on her face that I never imagined that I would see – she looks absolutely panic-stricken and I watch her in confusion for a few moments because there's nothing around that I can see.

"Samura." I swear violently, and manage to drop my knife again as a woman's voice echoes from a dark corner of the room; the gentle tones don't fool me – whoever it is, is certainly our enemy.

"Who's there?" I demand, turning towards the corner with what I hope is a fierce look on my face.

"Samura."

I glance over at my ally, who has her head buried in her hands and is shaking desperately. "Samura?" I crouch down anxiously beside her, "what's wrong?"

"It's my mum's voice," she whispers, in a voice so quiet that I have to lean in even closer so that I can hear her.

"Your mum?" This makes no sense – I remember Samura's interview when she had revealed the death of her mother. She'd hinted at it during training as well though, of course, she had been too proud to actually tell me the truth. "How can it be your mum? I thought she was..." I trail off, because I'm sure Samura's fully aware that her mum is dead.

"Dead?" she asks, finally raising her head to meet my eyes, "she is, but I know her voice, and it's definitely her. I don't care if you believe me or not." The tone of her voice rises slightly in anger, and I sit back on my heels to get away from her a little bit.

"I do believe you. I just don't understand how," I mutter, trying to console her.

But the voice wafts over from the corner again, "Samura," and she lurches to her feet, her features twisted in confusion.

"Mum?" The murmur sounds like it's torn from her throat, and I imagine that Samura doesn't want to get her hopes up. Something about this whole situation seems inherently wrong to me – why would the Gamemakers want to use her mother's voice? Surely it would cheer her up to hear it again. And how would they get hold of it anyway? None of this is making any sense, and I feel absolutely exhausted so my brain is having to struggle even harder to comprehend the situation.

"Samura?"

"I'm here," Samura takes another step towards the corner and my stomach lurches in fear. Something tells me that there must be something in that corner. Something bad that she shouldn't go anywhere near.

"Samura?" I call out as I start to follow her as she makes her way across the room, but she doesn't react – I don't think she's paying any attention to me; her mind is fixed on whatever lies in that corner. "I don't think this is a good idea," I decide the best idea is just to keep talking, and moving towards her – maybe then she'll snap out of this.

Suddenly, Samura's running across the room, her eyes focused on the corner and her feet pounding desperately across the floor.

_No, this is wrong. Something is wrong._

I start running towards the patch of shadow as well and I yell out her name urgently as she disappears into the darkness; only the harsh sound of her breathing letting me know that she's still there.

The she starts screaming, and it's the most painful sound I've ever heard.

**Rivka Locklier, District 12.**

I lean my back against the tree trunk, and try to concentrate on breathing deeply, just as Harrow had made me do while he was removing the arrow from my shoulder. A shudder ripples through my body as I remember the fierce burst of pain as Misha had launched the arrow into my shoulder.

I glance over to where Harrow sits, his eyes fixed on the fire and his back straight and strong against a tree trunk – I'd be dead about three times over today if he hadn't been around and I sigh, raising a hand to the bandage twisted around my shoulder. The pack he had taken from the Cornucopia had a few useful medical supplies inside it, including the bandage and antiseptic spray that Harrow had used on my shoulder. I could tell from his face that it wasn't good enough though, and I didn't want to ask him what would happen to my arm next because honestly, I didn't want to know.

There were also a couple of packets of dried fruit inside the rucksack and a canteen which, unfortunately, turned out to be empty.

Harrow suddenly raises his head and meets my eyes with his gentle blue ones, "How are you feeling?"

I shrug, and then let out a yelp of pain as pain lances through my shoulder. Harrow immediately looks anxious and he sighs softly, "I wish there had been some painkillers in that pack," he mutters quietly, his eyes moving back towards the fire as if he can't bear to look at me.

"It doesn't matter, I'm fine," I tell him. In truth, my arm hurts like blazes and I'm also starting to develop a monstrous headache, but I don't want to worry him or Olive, who's barely said a word since we made camp after the fight this morning.

I glance over at her now, to where she sits huddled with her head resting against her knees. "You alright, Jabber?" I ask her and she raises her head with a small smile on her face.

"Absolutely fine," she replies, and I can see the same anxious expression on her face that I had seen on Harrow's. "You?"

"Never better," I answer and I push myself into a standing position and walk over to where she sits. I plonk myself down beside her, trying to ignore the pain building up within my arm.

She smiles at me tentatively, and reaches for Harrow's luminous orange pack, her fingers playing nervously with the zip; I guess she needs to distract herself somehow. I wish there had been a book at the Cornucopia, because that would have been an excellent way to keep myself occupied and avoid having to think about where I really am. Not that it would have been a very useful weapon, but I probably could have done a bit of damage if I had whacked someone with it. Not that I would have wanted to damage the book, if I had one.

"What do we do tomorrow?" Olive asks, glancing at Harrow and I. I know that Jared's death has affected her badly, even if she doesn't want to admit it, and she's feeling the loss of her district partner. Thing is, I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make her feel better. We're in the Hunger Games, and even though I may not like it, people are going to die.

I do feel awful about Jared though – he was a sweet little boy who was eternally positive and he would have helped keep our spirits up in the arena; we certainly wouldn't be huddled around the fire in silence right now if he had survived. At least he went quickly though; I'm glad that he didn't suffer.

"We need to find some food," Harrow answers, glancing over at us with a determined look on his face, "we all went to the edible plants station, and I'm assuming those plants will be in the arena somewhere, otherwise what was the point?"

"Water's more important," I point out suddenly, remembering how our mentor's had told us that a person could survive without food much longer than they could without water. "We need to find a stream or something."

Harrow nods, "We'll make that our priority then," he says, agreeing with me and glancing ruefully over at his empty canteen. It's making the lack of water all the more obvious, and we're all practically dying of thirst after the long walk after the battle.

I try to work some spit up in my mouth, and swallow to try and convince my dry throat that it's getting some moisture. If we can't find any water tomorrow, then we really will be in trouble. I feel horribly guilty, because I know we would have looked for some today if it hadn't been for my shoulder.

I feel so stupid – if only I had noticed Misha with his bow and arrow, but I had been so preoccupied with the carnage around me that I wasn't paying attention to the fact I was in danger. I owe Harrow so much, and now I'm even more of a burden; because of me he missed out on the opportunity to find any water.

I sigh once more, and rest my head exhaustedly onto Olive's shoulder. She instantly puts her arm around me, careful to avoid my bad shoulder and I smile sleepily. It sounds stupid, but even in the arena – being with Harrow and Olive makes me feel slightly safer. I don't know how those tributes without allies are coping because I know I couldn't do it.

* * *

I must have drifted off, because when I next open my eyes my head is resting on the forest ground and my hair is full of dry leaves. My shoulder is throbbing and I realise that must have been what woke me up, because I still feel shattered and my surroundings are pitch black.

I push myself into a sitting position and glance around the camp; Olive lies just beside me, her eyes closed and breathing deeply. Harrow sits opposite me, firelight reflecting off his eyes as he stares out into the forest.

"You should be asleep," he says, without even looking at me.

I smile, "I know – but you can't watch all night Harrow; you need to sleep too."

His eyes flicker over to me, "I don't even know why I'm bothering to keep watch," he says dully, "it's not like we have a weapon anyway."

I don't like thinking about what a defenceless position we're in right now. "Do you reckon the others are out hunting?" I ask, unable to keep a faint tremble out of my voice as I do so.

"Maybe," he answers, and I'm so glad that he's telling me truth, rather than lying to me to attempt to save me from getting scared, "but I think everybody will be pretty tired after that bloodbath this morning."

I nod, "Bloodbath," I repeat slowly, rolling the word around in my mouth – it's a good word for the scenes I witnessed this morning. It amazes me that the other tributes can spend three whole days in training with other people, and then not even care about killing them. I had seen the faces of some of them – they hadn't given a damn about what they were doing.

The fire crackles away to itself, and we lapse back into silence. I can't think what to say – I've never been much of a talker anyway and I certainly can't think of any topics for discussion in this situation. Maybe we'll have a lovely long discussion about the "Bloodbath", so aptly named by Harrow. But I don't really feel up to that.

I keep opening my mouth to say something, and then closing it again when I see the expression of concentration on Harrow's face. But the silence is stretching to the point of awkwardness and I-

I jump up suddenly, lurching to my feet as I feel someone breathe on the back of my neck. Then I squeal in pain as my shoulder protests at the sudden movement.

Harrow glances over at me in confusion, while I glance over my shoulder, wondering why he can't see whoever was just behind me.

"What's wrong?" he demands, also climbing to his feet as he glances at me.

I clench my fists tightly to stop my fingers from trembling and look at him, "There wasn't anyone behind me?"

"Of course not," he answers, watching me uncertainly, "don't you think I would've said something if there had been someone standing there?"

"But I..." I press my fingers against the back of my neck, touching the point where I had felt the cold breath against my skin, "I felt something... It was like something breathing from just behind me." I stare at him for a few moments, "You definitely didn't see anything?"

He shakes his head, looking slightly indignant at my question, "Rivka, you're tired and jumpy – you probably just imagined –" Panic crosses over his face and he spins around, his eyes jumping around the small campsite.

"You felt it too?" I mutter, assuming this is the only reason why he can be reacting like this.

"Yeah," he replies shakily, "it was like a cold breath on the back of my neck."

I nod, for some reason slightly relieved that he felt it too, "Exactly. That's what I felt. There was no one behind you though." I shudder. "What do you think it was?"

Harrow scans the forest once more, before answering, "We're in the Hunger Games. They said there would be all kinds of tricks, and this must be one of them. Unless one of the other tributes has figured out how to turn invisible."

I wouldn't put it past that creepy little Lien kid, but I understand what he means – in the explanation of the Hunger Games, they had told us that it wouldn't just be a simple fight, but that they would throw in a few extra things as well. Still, I can't deny that it's creepy and it's making my skin crawl to remember the feeling of breath against my skin.

I jump, and whirl around as I feel it again, on my cheek this time though. "I hate this," I snap angrily as once again I see nothing behind me and Harrow smiles sadly at me.

"Just ignore it. If you don't let it get to you then-" he's cut off as a voice sounds softly within the clearly.

"Olive." I start and my eyes flicker over to her sleeping form – she's obviously a deep sleeper because she hasn't even stirred through all of this.

"Ignore it," Harrow repeats firmly, "just go back to sleep, ok? A voice can't do anything." I can see that he doesn't quite believe his own words though from the way he stands stiffly upright, his eyes roaming across the dark edge of the forest.

I nod, but press my eyes tightly closed as I hear the voice again. "Do you think it will stop?" I ask, though I know he doesn't know anymore than I do.

"If you go to sleep then you won't be able to hear it anymore," he answers me, pointing back towards where Olive lies on the ground, "Go to sleep, I'll keep watch."

I should argue with him – after all, he shouldn't stay up the whole night – but my limbs feel heavy with tiredness and all I want to do is drop down into the leaves, close my eyes, and try and forget about the voice.

I settle myself down next to Olive and curl into a ball, careful not to disrupt my shoulder.

"Rivka?" he mutters abruptly from the other side of the fire, and I glance up to see him watching my anxiously. My heart instantly lurches within my chest – why does he look so panicked?

"What?" I hiss.

"Don't mention this to Olive, ok? Or wake her up so she hears it too."

I watch him in confusion for a few seconds, and then ask, "Why?"

"Because it was obviously calling her name for a reason, and I don't like it."

* * *

Happy New Year everyone :) This is my first update of 2011!

Sorry it's taken me so long up get this chapter up, but recovering from New Years Eve and the flu at the same time doesn't make for great writing...

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _This town, is coming like a ghost town, why must the youth fight against themselves?_


	25. On The Hunt

_Day Two_

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

I jerk awake to the feel of sharp fingers prodding against my side and I snap my eyes open in annoyance, certain that it's Envee, come to wake me up in the same irritating way she always does – I've never been a morning person.

I start slightly as my eyes land on the small skinny figure of a young girl who stands over me with an amused expression on her face. _Focus Aaron, _I tell myself, _you can't afford to zone out in this place. Probably end up with a knife between your ribs._

"What?" I snap as I force myself to sit up and survey our campsite; there's a mound of the supplies we managed to protect yesterday piled up beside the golden Cornucopia and a pile of black ash where we had lit our fire yesterday. Which was something I had turned out to be next to useless at, luckily Kye had had a bit of success and we'd eventually got the thing going.

"What are we doing today?" Lien demands, eyeing me impatiently, "I asked Kye but he was still half asleep, and sent me over to ask you instead." I can't help but feel slightly smug as it comes to my attention that they've clearly already chosen me as the leader of our little alliance. I guess it was a logical choice, because I'm the only one out of us who has experience with this kind of thing. Anyway, I did manage to take out three other tributes yesterday.

I clench my fists though, as I think of the one who managed to get away. Sasha. She'd resorted to a fairly cowardly technique, but it had done its job and probably left me looking like an idiot in front of the whole of Panem.

"Bring Kye over here," I tell her distractedly, "we'll discuss it over breakfast."

I push myself over to the supplies and begin searching through for anything remotely edible – I'm absolutely starving and my dry throat is grating on my nerves as well.

Once Lien has dragged a sleepy looking Kye over in my direction, I hand out some of the packets of dried fruit that I'd managed to locate and start forming a plan in my mind. "We need water," I tell them immediately, "and the lake seems like as good a source as any to find that."

Lien glances over her shoulder, to where the expanse of dark water is just about visible in the distance. "We need to leave someone to guard though," she points out, while Kye just nods and yawns.

"Fine, we'll decide that in a bit."

"We're going to go hunting as well, right?" Kye says, obviously having gathered his thoughts enough to be able to talk.

I glance over at the gloomy edge of the forest with distaste – ever since Kye described the death of the kid from six yesterday, my skin has started to crawl whenever my eyes land on the vast depths of the forest. Spiders have always _bothered _me for some reason. Something about their legs and...

I suck in a deep breath and force myself to think of Envee – what would she say to me now if she could see me panicking about a couple of stupid spiders? She'd give me a good whack and tell me to stop being such a wimp.

I snap back to attention as I realise that my allies are watching me with slightly confused expressions on their faces.

"Yes," I say suddenly, making them start, "of course we're going hunting. But we need water first." I survey my surroundings for a moment, watching the space between us and the lake warily and wondering who I should send.

"Right," Lien snaps impatiently, rolling her eyes in my direction and making me clench my fists, "we'll go to the lake," she says, gesturing at herself and Kye, "then we'll go looking for the other tributes."

She stands up, tapping her fingers against her side as she waits for Kye to do the same.

"Wait," he mutters, glancing between the two of us.

"What is it?" Lien demands, her face twisted in fury – and I can't help thinking, that despite the fact she's only a fairly skinny thirteen year old girl, she's actually quite a formidable person. Not that I'll have any problems taking her down when the time comes to break up this alliance. But I'm not planning to be complacent around her – I shall keep my eyes on Lien.

"I heard something last night," he says, his eyes meeting mine and he seems slightly afraid for some reason.

"It's a bit late to mention it now," I point out. Besides, what tribute would be stupid enough to take us on?

He ignores me, and continues talking, "When I was on watch – it was like a voice in the distance. And I swear I kept feeling something... I don't know – breathing on me or something."

I can't believe that this arena is already starting to get to him; I actually thought Kye was going to make quite a reliable ally. But then, I thought the same thing about Rocco and he somehow managed to let Sasha kill him.

"Something was _breathing _on you?" Lien asks scathingly, and she laughs mockingly at him. I guess I can admire her bravery up to a point for doing this – it's clear to me that Kye must be losing his mind slightly, but I'm not planning on alienating him as an ally. I have a strategy worked out, and I'm not going to ruin it on the first day.

"When you say you heard a voice..?" I ask, uncertain as to how to reply to his rather insane tale.

"I mean that I heard a voice," Kye says, and I see his eyes flicker nervously over to Lien for a moment. "It said... it was saying Lien's name," he mutters, so quietly that I have to lean in slightly to actually be able to hear him.

Lien doesn't even look remotely fazed by this announcement and she simply folds her arms tightly across her chest, and watches Kye with a distinctly unimpressed look etched across her face. "Did you really think you could scare me with some childish little story about ghosts and ghoulies?" she asks, in a sickly sweet voice and I can't help but think that she's completely destroyed the cute little girl image that she worked so hard to build up before the arena. It's different to my plan – I want to keep this aggressive, dangerous image for as long as I can. I reckon my actions yesterday will have helped me out in this respect.

"No Lien," Kye retorts angrily, "I was trying to warn you, because they clearly tried to send something after you yesterday and I-"

She cuts him off, "Save it," she snaps and grabs a rucksack from the pile and begins stuffing canteens into it, "now, are we getting water or what?"

Kye gathers a couple of empty bottles, and silence reigns in the camp until he's shoved them haphazardly into a bag and I suddenly notice something.

I hold out a knife towards Lien, "You'll need a weapon, just in case something happens," I tell her, having spotted a belt that's currently free of them.

"I don't _want _a weapon," she replies, glancing with distaste at the knife between my fingers, "it's not like something is going to happen between here and the lake."

"You don't know that," I start to tell her, but she cuts me off with a fierce look. "Lien you-"

"I'd leave it if I were you," Kye interjects firmly and plants a step in the direction of the lake.

"Good luck," I mutter sourly under my breath and turn my attention back to the supplies, not even bothering to keep an eye on them. I can't understand why Lien wouldn't take the knife that I had offered her. We're in the Hunger Games – not matter how strong her allies might be, she needs to pull her own weight.

Perhaps I'll let it pass for now, but I'm not happy about it. I learnt diplomacy taking care of my squad during the rebellion though, and so I know from experience that it's no good trying to push the issue too far. Let it go for today, then talk to her about it tomorrow.

I arrange my spears on a row on the ground and shove my knife into my belt. It's hard, always needing to do something to distract myself. Don't get me wrong – I knew what I was getting myself into when I volunteered and I'm not exactly a stranger to having to kill those who oppose the Capitol or myself. But there's something eerie about the atmosphere in this arena and I almost wish that I could bypass this part of the Hunger Games, and skip straight to the glory of winning bit.

Still, I have to admit that the familiar feeling of that adrenaline rush yesterday had surged into my bones and made me feel alive again.

I sit in silence for a few moments, hoping that I'm not boring the audience too much but hopefully we'll stumble across one of the other tributes later and that will provide a bit of entertainment.

I've just shifted my position so that my back is propped up against the side of the Cornucopia when a sudden scream slices through the almost peaceful air of the arena.

I start to my feet, and twist my head round, trying to locate the source of the noise. I bend and swipe up several of my spears from the ground when I finally find it.

Turns out, the Gamemakers must have been bored of our antics, because they decided to make some entertainment of their own.

I sprint across the wide expanse of lawn separating me from the lake where Lien and Kye are facing something that I have no words from.

Something has emerged from the depths of the lake – something pink, slimy and waving wide tentacles covered in suckers in the direction of my allies. As I begin to close the gap between me and them, I see that the creature holds Kye wrapped in one of its slimy limbs and he's slashing desperately at it with his knife. Lien, on the other hand, is jumping and swerving, trying to dodge the mass of tentacles that are attempting to swipe at her.

I've seen things like this back at home – squid and octopuses, but this certainly isn't natural. The fishermen would be shocked out of their minds if they had ever caught something of this vast size.

When I'm only a few paces away, I wrench out one of my spears and hurl it towards the largest fleshy part that I can lay my eyes on. I start to release a cheer of triumph as the spear heads straight towards my target, but this changes to a curse as the tip of the spear barely lodges itself into the creature before it shakes itself and the spear is knocked into the water.

_How am I supposed to kill this thing?_

I swear in annoyance as Kye unleashes a strangled cry, and the knife drops from his limp fingers down into the lake. I half expect a cannon to go off for a moment but I don't hear anything and I surge forward.

I'm knocked suddenly off my feet as one of the tentacles sweeps beneath me, and I land flat on my face in a pile of sloppy mud. Anger flares through me as my pride takes a serious knock and I push myself back to my feet and aim a fierce cry of rage towards the beast.

"Aaron!" I hear Lien yell from my left side and I whirl round just in time to see one of the tentacles begin to curl around her waist. She starts screaming, and clawing at it desperately as it attempts to lift her off the ground. "Get off me," she screams powerfully, her legs kicking wildly.

I stumble towards her, freeing my knife from my belt and I swipe viciously as the wide expanse of pink tentacle. I hack at it determinedly and the beast emits a strange rumbling sound as I finally manage to slice right through the tentacle clutching Lien.

She screams in victory as it begins to slide away from her, and flops back into the water, drenching us both with icy water, but also washing the mud from my face.

_Now, for Kye._

It's easier to choose my target now that I'm closer, and I lob another spear towards what I'm assuming is the creatures head.

This time, the head of the spear is launched directly into its flesh and it releases another rumble that shakes the ground around us, and almost knocks Lien off her feet. I grasp at her arm, trying to steady her as the beast begins to shake Kye around.

I grit my teeth, and release another spear, launching it directly beside the other one.

A loud howl of pain makes me drop my two remaining spears and clasp my hands over my ears. Lien does the same, and her face twists into a grimace of pain as the noise reverberates through us.

The creature begins to slump forward, and I watch in horror as Kye is released from its grasp. He falls to the ground like a rag doll and lands with a thump that makes me wince, and I swear in anger as I realise that this may have taken out my strongest ally. Luckily, he wasn't too far up, but that fall will hardly have done anything good for him.

Lien starts towards him, but I continue to watch as the beast descends below the surface, released another loud rumble as it does so. Something tells me that I was nowhere near managing to kill it and we certainly can't use the lake to collect drinking water again. Which means that we'll have to waste time trying to find another source when we could be looking for tributes instead.

I walk over to where Lien is crouched over an unconscious Kye and sigh as I spot the pitiful amount of water they managed to collect before the beast had appeared. "How is he?" I ask, watching him uncertainly. His chest is rising and falling ever so slightly, but his face his pale and he doesn't look good.

"I'm not a doctor," Lien snaps viciously, "I don't know how he is, or how to help him."

I don't bother getting into an argument; merely glance back towards the now unguarded Cornucopia. "We need to take him back to the supplies. Look through the medical supplies and wait for him to wake up."

Lien nods, "And then what?"

"And then, once Kye is awake, we can leave him on guard while we go on the hunt."

**Samura Nightshade, District 2**.

I wake up with a groan, and press my fingers against my temple as if I can wipe away the headache throbbing in my forehead. I can feel blades of grass tickling my cheek and something about that seems mildly strange, but I'm not quite sure why.

Then I start awake as I remember. I was in a castle – there wouldn't be grass in a castle!

My jaw drops open in horror as I'm forced to take in my surroundings; I'm lying in the middle of a small clearing carpeted in downy grass, and the odd small white flower and everywhere I turn my head, all I can see are trees.

_How did I end up here? _I force my mind to answer this question because the last thing I remember is sitting in a vast open hall in the castle and I was with... Griffin.

I remember him in a sudden rush of emotion – remember him calling out my name as I crossed a room. I don't understand why his voice in my memory is high and panicked; I'm certain that we didn't come across another tribute and so why would he be so scared?

I'm aware that my mind is obviously skirting around the central point of last night – the point that will probably explain how I ended up lying in the middle of the forest when I'm fairly sure that I fell asleep in a castle last night.

I shut my eyes again, trying to call up images from last night.

Then it comes back to me.

_I hear something whispering in the shadows of the room; something that's growing louder and stronger by the second. This something speaks with a voice that brings my heart to my mouth and makes my chest ache with longing. Mum._

_My need for my mum takes over my common sense, and all I can think about is moving towards the sound of her voice. I need her to wrap her arms around me, and tell me that everything's going to be normal again._

_And even though it makes no sense for her to be in the arena, I just need to see, and that voice gives me hope. As do the shadows that obscure her from my view. Maybe it really is her. _

_But something seems wrong as I step into the patch of shadow. I think, for a second, that I see my mother's face looming at me from the darkness. But it's something else entirely – something with anger etched onto its features. Something with empty eyes and hands that begin to move towards my neck._

A shudder ripples through my body, and my hands jerk to my neck. I wince as I press against the bruises that lay on my skin and I shut my eyes, as if by closing my lids I can keep the tears safely inside my eyes.

The moment that I had heard my mum's voice in that echoing room, I had allowed myself to feel hope again. There had been a second where I had thought that maybe, possibly, she was-

I don't let myself think that next bit, because I don't want the whole of Panem seeing my emotions. I don't want the Gamemakers to know that their plan had worked perfectly and they had chosen the one thing that had actually had the potential to break me in this arena.

But I can't be broken – it's only the first day and I have my ally to think of. _Griffin!_ My memories still hadn't explained to me how I'd ended up in this place with no Griffin in sight.

Had something happened? Another tribute... No, I'm certain that I would remember if something like that had happened. I might resent Griffin at times, and he certainly can be irritating, but I _know_ I would remember if anything had happened to him.

Because he means something to me, even though he probably shouldn't.

_You shouldn't think like that, Samura,_ I remind myself urgently – it's dangerous to think that way in the arena. Anyway, it's not like I mean anything to Griffin – I'm a useful ally for him, especially after I got that ten as my training score, and that's all I am.

And all he is to me, no matter what my stray thoughts may try to tell me.

I press my hands against my eyes, and try to block all thoughts of my mum and Griffin from my mind. I need to focus on the problem as hand, which is figuring out how I actually ended up here. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against them.

It had definitely happened when I had stepped into the shadow. There had been a moment where I had seen the face and felt the clammy hands locking around my neck, but then everything had changed. The shadow had disappeared, and I had seen grass and trees.

Then, I realise - somehow, that patch of shadow had taken me to a different patch of the arena. I stiffen as I really begin to comprehend what that means – I have no clue as to where I am, no supplies, no weapon and no Gr-... ally.

How can this have happened? I went from being safely holed away in the castle with enough supplies to last me for at least a little while, having my hands on a mace which is the weapon I had always used during Peacekeeper training and someone to watch my back, to being stranded in the middle of the forest.

It feels like cheating on the part of the Gamemakers. Surely this isn't fair – hadn't I earned my right to rest for night in the castle after being quite productive during the initial battle?

But by transporting me across the arena, causing me to lose everything I had gained yesterday... No, that can't possibly be right. It must be against the rules, if there even are any rules for this thing.

I glare into the sky, clenching my fists against my stomach. First they kill my mother just because she tried to help an innocent person, and now they do this?

That's when I realise something – I _hate _the Capitol, and I hate the fact that I volunteered myself to be nothing more than a pawn in their game. More than that, I hate the fact that I'm still prepared to play along because I need to kill Zack.

Maybe it is the Capitol who I should be blaming for her death, but Zack is someone accountable who I can actually get my hands on. And if that means playing the game for a little bit longer, then that's what I'm going to have to do.

But perhaps I can have hope in the fact that the brutality of these Hunger Games might unite the districts once more and perhaps they could actually turn out to be the downfall of the Capitol. That's probably just idle wishing though – but I just wish that I could do something to take revenge on them.

I groan, and push my hands back against my eyes. These aren't good thoughts for me first morning in the arena, when I need to be forming a plan to get back to Griffin and my supplies. They could have sent me right to the other end of the arena though, and I have no chance of making my way back without a weapon. If I run into another tribute them I'm a goner, seeing as I all I have are the clothes I'm wearing.

I stare around me for a moment, hoping that inspiration might strike because I don't think there's much point on holding out the hope that Griffin might somehow find me. I grimace – what are the chances of us just stumbling across one another in this vast arena?

Then I suddenly remember the sponsors. I wonder if there's any chance that I actually have any, if somehow I might have managed to stick in someone's head beyond the other tributes.

Well, it's worth a try I suppose because I need to find Griffin, and I need to take down Zack. Even if I don't quite know what's going to happen after I've done those things, it's all I've been hanging my future on recently – the idea of killing Zack – and I don't what else I'm supposed to do.

I glance up into the sky, hoping that I don't look too stupid and resenting the fact that I'm already having to ask for Capitol help. "I could really do with a weapon," I mutter towards the heavens, keeping my voice low in case there are any tributes around me.

The minutes stretch on, and though I keep glancing expectantly up at the sky, nothing appears. I'm not being conceited, but I would've thought that I'd have at least enough sponsors to be able to send me a slingshot, or something.

_Anything, _I think, slightly desperately, _anything would be useful right now._

I can't help the slight smile that breaks out across my face as my eyes catch a glimpse of something silvery begin to float down from the sky.

It seems like a good omen to me that the parachute that carries my sponsor gift, whatever it might be, is silver because that's always been my favourite colour. Ever since I was little and I had like looking at shiny things. Not because I was vain or anything like that, but because I had liked the way that light had made patterns against the reflective surface.

Growing up however, I had realised that it was often the bad things that were silver, like weapons or metallic hovercrafts sent by the Capitol to destroy the districts. But maybe the fact that this parachute is silver proves that positive things can be too, and maybe it wasn't such a bad choice for a favourite colour.

As the parachute floats closer towards me, my smile widens as I realise that it isn't only carrying a weapon, but a fairly large green rucksack that is practically bulging at the seams. The moment that it lands with a thud on the ground, I rush towards it and tear the bag from the strings of the parachute.

I hurriedly undo the zip and peer inside. The first thing I spot is a knife with a serrated blade and I tuck it into my belt. I feel a lot safer now that I have something that I can use to protect myself. I delve deeper into the bag and find numerous packets of food, and also some bags that clearly have to be boiled in order to be eaten.

Lastly, a canteen lies at the bottom of the bag. The ones in the packs that we had taken from the Cornucopia yesterday had, much to our annoyance, been empty and so I feel like squeaking in excitement as I pick it up and find that it's heavy.

This is more than I had been hoping for – and certainly more than I really deserve. I can't help the hope that surges inside of me that Griffin will have received something as well, because what we had back in the castle wasn't enough to live on.

I force myself to take one controlled sip from the bottle to ease my parched throat, and then screw the lid back on tightly and shove it onto my bag. I place the parachute on the top of the food before I zip it back up, because something just feels lucky about it.

It turns out that I was right, because after I've been walking for around twenty minutes, I stumble across signs of a recently abandoned campsite. A still slightly smouldering pile of ash lies in the middle of the clearing, and the mud around the bottom of the trees is all churned up.

Then my heart lurches in my chest as my eyes spot something caught against a branch in the far corner of the clearing. A single blonde hair flutters in the slight breeze.

Salima – it has to be. It's too long to belong to the girl from District 12 or any of the boys, and the girl from District 3, although her hair is blonde, it's slightly darker than this.

And if this hair belongs to Salima, then that means that she and Zack must be somewhere around here. I know the damage I had done to his side – he won't be walking anywhere quickly.

My pulse begins to accelerate as I realise just how close he might be to my grasp, but then I remember Griffin. Shouldn't he be my priority right now? Surely it's more important to try and find my way back to him.

But my body clearly has other ideas – my blood burns within my veins and everything urges me to abandon thoughts of Griffin and instead I choose to go on the hunt.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? Tonight the hunt for you, every night, every day, making plans for your escape 


	26. Failure Of A Plan

_Day Two_

**Kelby Fuse, District 5.**

Flint's elbow barges into my side for about the fiftieth time since we set off this morning, and I grit my teeth and force myself to keep quiet. I know she's only walking into me because she isn't paying the slightest bit of attention but still, it's starting to get on my nerves. What makes it even worse is that Sasha snorts with laughter every time she does it.

"Where are we actually going?" Chall asks impatiently, from where she lags just slightly behind the group. I've been trying to encourage her to catch up all morning – even the slightest gap could make a lot of different if someone finds us.

Well, we're in pretty serious trouble if someone finds us anyway, seeing as we only have one knife between the four of us.

"I told you," Sasha says firmly – she's certainly taken control as leader over us, "we're going towards the castle because it looks like it will be safer over there than anywhere else. I don't like the thought of spending another night out in the open – it's too exposed."

"But didn't the blonde girl and that boy who looks like a tree go into the castle," Flint says airily and I glance at her in shock – I wouldn't have thought that she would actually be paying any attention to our conversation.

She's right though, and it's something that I had considered briefly earlier – after we had left the Cornucopia yesterday, Chall and I had remained hidden in the trees so we could watch the rest of the action. A risky move perhaps, but we'd had to know what was going on.

We had seen Samura and Griffin enter the castle through the wide wooden doors at the front, and they hadn't come out that we had seen. I glance sideways at Sasha now, who's watching Flint with irritation on her face.

"We only saw them go into the front of the castle," she says, slightly coldly, "and I didn't mean that we should go in that part. I saw a little door at the base of one of the towers."

It still doesn't seem like a great plan to me, "But surely it would just be safer to stay out in the woods?" I say lightly; normally I would be trying to diffuse any tension in the air but I can't just make jokes and ignore the fact that Sasha's plan might get us into trouble.

"Do you really think that?" she demands angrily, whirling around to face me with angry blue eyes, "because I would actually say that it's more dangerous to sleep in the woods where there could be any number of other tributes roaming around, just waiting to stumble across us."

I bite my lip – she does have a point after all; I had hardly slept at all last night because I had felt so exposed lying in the small clearing in the middle of the forest. Well, that and I hadn't been able to get the thoughts of Kelz out of my mind and the hope that Fern and my dad wouldn't be letting him watch me on the screen. And there had been something else as well.

I nod, "I understand Sasha, but we have no idea how many other tributes there are in that castle. And anyway, what about Aaron's alliance? They'll still be at the Cornucopia and we'll be right in their line of view if we try to get to the castle," I reel off quickly, stumbling over my words in my haste to get them out.

She sighs, "I don't have any other ideas. If we circle around the back of the castle, staying in the woods, then we can make it to one of the towers without them seeing us. I just think it will be easier to guard if we're in a room or something." All the anger seems to have evaporated out of her, and I know exactly how she feels. I'm just so bone weary of constantly having to look of my shoulder to check that there is nothing behind me. I hate feeling so on edge all the time, and this is only the second day.

"Ok Sash," Chall suddenly pipes up from just behind my shoulder, and Sasha looks over at her in surprise.

"You're going to agree with me?" she demands, "just like that?"

Chall shrugs, "I understand – I really don't want to spend another night in the forest. It gave me goose bumps, and I hated being on watch by myself."

We all nod in agreement – well all of us apart from Flint – and Sasha and I exchange a glance as we remember the events of the night before.

Thinking of the whispers in the night, and the feeling of the breath on my cheek still makes my skin crawl whenever I think of it.

Sasha had woken me up last night with a desperate look on her face; it had been her turn to keep guard but she had sworn to me that she could feel someone moving around the camp. She had looked so terrified that I'd been up in a flash – thinking that even if it was just her imagination, it couldn't hurt to check.

I had known from her reaction that she had felt breathing on the back of her neck just as I had done, and a shudder ripples through me now as I think of the cool breath against my skin. And the disembodied voice that had whispered Chall's name.

I look over at Sasha now, who's watching me with a worried expression on her face that lets me know that she's thinking about the exact same thing as I was.

We had searched the trees around the campsite for around an hour but in the end we'd had to accept that whatever had been making the noise had long since disappeared. Sasha had been adamant that it must have been a trick by the Gamemakers, but there seemed to be something more sinister about it to me.

Maybe that's just me being paranoid – but I was certainly glad that Chall hadn't woken up and heard it. I dread to think what might have happened if she'd heard the voice whispering her name into the darkness.

"Kelby?" Chall says impatiently, and I glance over at her, realising that she must have been calling my name for a while.

"What?" I ask anxiously, my eyes flitting around the clearing and half expecting to see another tribute or something.

"Flint's gone," she says urgently, her eyes trained on the trees in front of and I glance at her in horror.

"What do you mean she's gone?" I snap, ignoring the look of surprise on her face because she has never seen me angry before, "why didn't you stop her?"

Chall raises her eyebrows, "I only noticed a moment ago. I never saw her leave."

I groan, and press my hand against my forehead, trying to suppress my irritation with Flint and the way she can never seem to pay attention to everything. Sasha glances between Chall and I before dashing off into the trees, calling out Flint's name with no regard to the danger she might be putting us in by pretty much revealing our presence to any tribute that might be nearby.

I grasp Chall's arm tightly, and rush after Sasha, following the sound of her footsteps rustling the trees and bushes.

I'm not really noticing where I'm going; the only thought in my mind is that I need to find Sasha and Flint.

I suddenly bang into something right in front of me and I bounce backwards, ending up sitting on the floor and groaning as the impact jars my legs.

I tilt my head upwards, and realise that what I collided with was actually Sasha, who stands on the outskirts on the forest.

"Sorry," I mutter from my position on the floor, before realising that she isn't actually paying any attention to me. Knowing Sasha, I would have thought that she'd be furiously angry with me right now.

"Sasha?" Chall asks nervously from behind me and Sasha finally turns her head around to look at us.

"I've found Flint," she murmurs and gestures in front of her. There's something about her pale face that makes me really not want to look. _Has something happened to Flint? _I still can't believe that she would just wander off like that.

Chall peers around Sasha, and gasps audibly. "We have to help her Sasha," she says firmly, "why aren't you doing anything to stop it?" she demands, watching Sasha's expression.

"They're right in front of the Cornucopia," Sasha retorts angrily, "we don't have enough weapons to face Aaron just yet."

Chall just pushes past her impatiently, and takes off running towards something in front of her. Something which I can't see because I'm still sitting on the forest floor behind Sasha and gritting my teeth against the pain still reverberating slightly along my legs after the sudden impact.

But I clench my jaw and force myself to clamber to my feet, stumbling slightly as my feet get entangled in a vine lying on the floor.

Sasha has just sprinted off after Chall as I poke my head out from the forest. My jaw drops as my eyes land on the scene; Sasha and Chall are still running towards Flint who is hitting out wildly at another tribute who lies beneath her, trying desperately to throw her off.

I almost trip over my own feet in my haste to reach them, and I hurl myself towards Flint.

Chall reaches Flint and throws herself into the fight – she might be a small tribute, but she's definitely a feisty one and I can hear her angry shrieks from where I am. Sasha pulls her knife from her belt as she gets nearer, but just as she does the other tribute clambers to his feet, sending both Flint and Chall sprawling onto the floor. And he pulls a knife from his own belt.

I screech to a stop to prevent myself from knocking into Sasha once more, and I realise that the other tribute is Griffin from District 9. He's holding the knife out towards Chall and Flint with a dangerous look in his eyes. I glance around; there's no sign of Samura – I can't believe that she would have abandoned him this early.

Griffin's face and arms are covered in scratches clearly inflicted by Flint and Chall, who are both struggling to clamber back to their feet. Sasha points her knife as Griffin, but neither of them moves and the silence stretches on. I've never been very good at dealing with silence and so I find myself taking a step forward and opening my mouth. "Griffin, where's Samura?" I ask gently, fully aware that there's still that slightly manic glint in his eyes.

It's clearly the wrong question to ask though, because he whirls around to look at me, brandishing his knife with a tortured expression on his face.

"It was the shadows," he mutters, his eyes locking onto mine, "the shadows killed her."

_Shadows? _I have no idea what he's talking about, particularly because I don't believe for one second that Samura is actually dead.

"No, you must have it wrong," I tell him instantly, keeping my eyes on his knife as I take another step towards him, "no one else has died since last night. There weren't any more cannons."

He looks at me in confusion, "But I was unconscious, and I thought I must have missed her cannon because she wasn't there when I woke up," he watches me with an urgent expression in his face, "you're sure she isn't dead?" He demands, and I nod in response.

Sasha confirms it, "No one else has died – we would have heard it; one of us was on guard all night."

He runs a hand through his already tousled hair, and winces slightly as his fingertips brush against the gashes on his cheeks. I make a pact with myself never to get on the wrong side of Flint if this is what happens when you do.

"But then-"he looks at us uncertainly, "where is she?"

Flint finally makes it to her feet, clutching her head as she does so and glances at Sasha and I in annoyance – or as close to annoyance as she's able to get, "why aren't we trying to kill tree man?" She asks, with a mildly puzzled expression.

Griffin's eyes flicker over the four of us, and then he looks towards the woods, "Just stay out of the shadows," he says firmly before turning and darting away towards the trees.

"Shouldn't we follow him?" Flint asks as we watch his disappearing into the distance.

"No," I say firmly, though I still can't help but wonder why we are just letting him go, "we have a plan to follow, remember?" I doubt Flint does remember, to be honest.

"Shame," Sasha says suddenly, her eyes still trained on the spot where Griffin has just disappeared.

"What's a shame?" Chall groans from where she's still lying on the ground.

I start towards her as Sasha replies, "It's a shame that he seems to be going a little bit insane," she replies, "it just seems such a waste for a good looking guy."

I just roll my eyes in response, and crouch down beside Chall, "are you alright?" I ask gently and she blinks up at me.

"I'm fine," she says, sitting up as she does, "I guess I just got a bit of a shock when he threw me at the ground like that. Can I ask why no one did anything when he escaped?"

Sasha just shrugs, "I'm not going to go back into that forest to try and hunt him down when we've almost reached our destination." I glance in the direction she's gesturing, and I start in shock; I was so preoccupied with worrying about the fight and whether Chall was injured or not that I hadn't even noticed the castle standing only a short distance away.

I realise what that means though, and my eyes flicker across to the other side to find the Cornucopia glinting in the faint sunlight. There's no movement around it though and I glance anxiously at Sasha, "We need to get out of here before they come back," I mutter and she nods.

"I know – if we're going to have a chance of taking him down, we need to have a plan and he can't take us by surprise; it has to be the other way around."

I nod in agreement, but there's something about planning someone else's death that makes my stomach churn nauseously and my heart ache with guilt. I know that I'll have to kill people in this arena if I want a chance of getting home to my gorgeous Kelz, but actually plotting to kill someone rather than just doing it in the heat of the moment is something else. I just don't think that it's me, and I don't want my son to grow up thinking that that's the right way to behave.

I sigh and clench my arms over my chest so that it doesn't hurt so much, as it always does when I let myself think of him. I don't want the others to see me as someone weak and easily distracted by thoughts of home, and so I haven't let myself tell anyone about Kelz. I haven't even hinted at it – some things are best kept to yourself.

**Sasha Darke, District 4**.

As we start walking, I can't help but glancing furiously over at Flint whenever I think of what she had just done. Seriously, how dopey is she that she thinks it's a good idea to abandon the rest of her allies and run off like that? There had been a second where I had wanted to just leave her – she was hardly a good choice for an ally in the first place and to be honest, she's more trouble than she's worth.

I sigh loudly, sagging my shoulders as we walk, because the silence stretches on and even Kelby, who can usually be relied upon to jabber away whenever there's a lapse in the conversation, seems to be lost in her own thoughts.

I pull at my blue t-shirt in annoyance – this has to be the most unflattering thing that I've ever had to wear. I'm not very impressed with the Capitol; you'd think they could have designed something at least a little bit more fashionable.

"What do you think he meant by that thing about the shadows?" Chall asks suddenly and I glance back at her – she has an anxious expression on her face. Don't tell me that she actually thinks he was telling the truth. The poor kid has clearly lost his mind – shadows _can't _kill people.

It's kind of a shame if he has gone mad because he looks like a pretty tough tribute, and I had been hoping that he and Samura might take out Aaron so that we wouldn't have to. But then again, I do want to test myself against him. _Ha, _I had certainly beaten him in the first round. But I've probably made him even angrier with me now which is hardly a positive outcome.

"He meant nothing," I tell Chall when no one else replies. Well, it's not like I was expecting Flint to anyway. She might not be the best ally I could have in here but she certainly can fight – she proved that with Griffin.

My thoughts wander back to Aaron and I find myself gritting my teeth. At the moment he's my biggest obstacle between dying and making it home again, and as much as I might not want to admit it, he's a fairly terrifying one.

"But he must have seen something. He looked scared," Chall insists, looking at Kelby as if she expects her to back her up. I wouldn't be surprised if she does – Kelby insisted that Chall be part of our alliance even though she is just a twelve year old girl. I still wonder why.

I sigh, "He told us that _shadows_ killed Samura," I say impatiently, "he was clearly talking rubbish." I cast her a look that tells her that this conversation is over.

We move closer to the castle and silence descends once more over our group. I glance at the dark shadow around the bottom of the castle and I smirk at the others. "Shall we see if Griffin was telling the truth?" I ask, gesturing towards the shadow.

"Sasha, remember last night," Kelby mutters warningly, and I just roll my eyes. Sure, last night was creepy but it was obviously just the Gamemakers trying to freak us out and stop us from sleeping. Judging from the dark circles under Kelby's eyes it had obviously worked on her.

I ignore her and walk over to the shadow. I move my arm into it, deliberately being as slow as I possibly can. "Sasha," Kelby calls from behind me, "this is just stupid."

I take a step into the shadow and keep my eyes focused on the wall. I twist my head around, and roll my eyes when absolutely nothing happens. _Scary..._

But then I decide that I might as well have a bit of fun with this and my hands fly to my neck.

"Sasha?" Kelby yells out, her voice rising in pitch as I spin round and widen my eyes in horror.

"There's something-" I cut myself off.

"Sash-" I step out of the shadows.

"Oh wait," I roll my eyes again, "I meant there's _nothing. _Come on, we're almost there."

"Sasha," Chall snaps, "don't mess around like that."

"I was trying to prove a point – we don't need to be scared of the shadows as well as everything else in this place."

To my surprise, Flint suddenly starts to laugh, "you looked so stupid," she says through her giggles, "when you put your hands round your neck. I thought you were trying to strangle yourself." I have no idea how she can laugh about that seeing as she was strangled herself just yesterday, but I'm glad that she's managed to diffuse the growing tension and so I smile in response.

She continues chuckling away to herself as we circle around behind the castle.

As we arrive at the base of one of the far towers, I flash the others a _told you so _look as we spot a small wooden door near its base. "See," I say, unable to keep the smugness completely out of my voice and I start towards it.

"Wait," Kelby splutters out as I wrench the door open and start to set a foot inside, "don't you think we should check it out first? What if there's someone up there?"

"Send one person up first?" She does have a point, I suppose, even though I don't particularly like the fact that it her who suggested it rather than me. She nods in response and I let go of the handle.

"I'll go," Chall pipes up from behind me and Kelby is instantly shaking her head.

"No – it's too dangerous. I'll do it," she says.

"I'm smaller," Chall points out impatiently, "it'll be easier for me to hide if there is anyone in there."

"No, it-" her words are cut off suddenly as the little girl darts through the door. I realise that Kelby's mouth is beginning to form her name but I dart forward and clamp my hand against her mouth.

"Think Kelby," I mutter in her ear, "you can't go giving her away but shrieking out her name." If there is anyone up there then we're in enough trouble as it is without her alerting everyone in the vicinity to our position.

The three of us stand in silence for a moment; Kelby and I watching the door and hoping that Chall will soon reappear, while Flint's eyes are trained on the clouds in the sky she's humming tunelessly to herself. I have to grit my teeth together to stop myself from shouting at her, because the sound is really getting on my nerves.

Flint suddenly lets out a squeak of excitement and tugs at my arm, "Look," she's whispering over and over again under her breath. "Look, look, look."

I roll my eyes, and glance up at the sky. My jaw drops as I see a silvery parachute floating down from the sky.

"What is that?" Kelby murmurs, her eyes transfixed as it continues its descent.

"It must be a sponsor gift," I say, glancing up at the parachute determinedly. I'm kind of assuming that it's for me, because I'm not trying to sound conceited but I highly doubt any of the other members of my alliance will have attracted many sponsors.

I gasp as it falls to the ground with a clunk and it becomes clear what the gift is. A beautifully crafted sword is wrapped in the strings of the parachute. I glance at it confusion – this clearly isn't meant for me then seeing as I've never used a sword in my life.

"A sword, but who's it for?" I ask when no one else says anything, bending down to untie it from the strings.

Kelby holds out my hands with a puzzled expression on her face, "It must be for me," she tells me, and I think she can see the cynicism in my face.

"My dad trained me with swords," she snaps angrily, "during the rebellion – it's what I used in my training session." I can sense the hidden meaning behind her words – _and I got the same score as you. _She doesn't know that it was all part of a fairly long ago tactic to look stupid and make the other tributes overlook me. I haven't even thought about it since I entered the arena, but I guess I can hope that it had some of the other tributes fooled. I have the feeling that Aaron had seen right through it though, especially since what had happened yesterday, which is infuriating.

"But why did they send it to you now?" I ask, feeling as though I'm missing something, as Kelby begins to practice some formations. I don't like to admit it, but it actually looks quite impressive and for a moment I wonder why she didn't get higher in her training score.

"Maybe Chall's in trouble," Flint says absently, watching the blade as Kelby swishes it through the air. She brings it to a sudden stop and glances at me in horror.

Surely not, surely-

That's when we hear the scream.

I'm through the door first and I rush up the winding stairs, taking them two at a time while Chall continues to scream and I hear Kelby and Flint just behind me.

As I burst through the door I come to an instant standstill because standing there is quite possibly the worst tribute that could have their hands on Chall. Aside from Aaron of course.

Misha stands just behind her with a lethal looking knife pressed against her throat. "Get off her," I hiss, trying to muster up any kind of bravery I can find but he doesn't even react to my words.

"I have to do it for Lena," he mutters determinedly and as I see the muscles in his arms tighten, I know exactly what's going to happen.

Chall whimpers in fear and I start towards him, holding my knife out in front of me. But then everything happens so quickly; he slashes his knife across her neck and I come to a dead stop as blood spurts shockingly from the gash, pouring onto the floor and staining the stones red.

A cannon goes off.

"No," I whisper as he releases her body and she lands face down in her own blood, splattering red against our boots. I glance at Kelby who stands just beside me, her face black and empty as if she can barely comprehend what has just happened. I'm struggling to understand myself - how can she be dead when she was alive just seconds ago? How can a life be extinguished in such a short amount of time? But I'm aware that we're still in danger and now isn't the time to lose focus.

"You monster," Kelby suddenly screeches from beside me, obviously awakening from her momentary shock, and I feel her step forward and brush lightly against my shoulder, "you really think it's ok to kill an innocent little girl?"

Anger passes over his face, "We're in the Hunger Games," is his reply and he lunges towards her with his knife. She jumps backwards out of his reach and I jab my knife towards his shoulder while he's distracted. I need to make him regret what he did to Chall – all I can think about is that he _has _to die.

He brings his knife upwards though, and blocks my knife before it has a chance to enter his flesh. The impact of metal against metal makes me groan in pain and I realise exactly how strong Misha is. I'm not exactly weak, but I'm no match for him

Flint barrels past me and knocks straight into him, attempting to wrestle the knife from his hands. "Flint!" Kelby shriek out as he flings her to the ground and I try stick my knife him once more. It _almost _brushes against his side but he collides his knife against mine with such strength that I almost lose my grip on the handle.

I yell as he slashes his knife against my arm and it tears through my skin – luckily it's not my sword arm but it _hurts _and the pain is enough to make me lose concentration on what I'm doing.

"Sasha!" Kelby screams, and something knocks me out of the way just as Misha lunges towards the spot where I had been standing, unable to make my body respond.

I realise that it was Flint and she shrieks furiously at Misha before tumbling back against him, clawing desperately as his arms just as she had done to Griffin. "You killed her," she yells over and over again, her voice growing higher and higher as Misha attempts to fight her off.

"I have to kill you," he yells as his knife catches Flint's cheek, and she falls to the ground.

Kelby lashes out with her sword, desperation etched onto her face. She swings her sword furiously but Misha's knife is there no matter which way she turns. I watch in frustration – wanting to get involved but they're moving so quickly that I can't without hurting Kelby too.

I lurch over to where Flint sits on the ground, a shaking hand pressed against her cheek which is bleeding quite heavily now. I hold out my hand which she takes, and I pull her up.

The fight between Misha and Kelby is starting to increase in pace – but he's clearly much stronger than she is and it's obvious that she can't hold out against him much longer.

I groan as Flint flings herself at him once more and he bats her away with barely a glance in her direction. I grip my knife tightly and lunge towards him. Kelby jumps out of the way and just narrowly avoids my knife, causing me to stumble slightly as I overreach in an attempt to get to Misha.

He starts forcing us towards the staircase – even the two us together are no real competition for him – but perhaps it's not such a bad idea because we certainly need to get out of here.

Misha swears in annoyance as Flint suddenly launches herself onto his back; he spins around wildly, trying to get her off him and I push Kelby towards the stairs. "We have to get out of here," I shriek at her, hoping she can understand what I'm saying because I can't seem to control the pitch of my voice.

"Flint!" I yell out, and she drops quickly from his back and darts towards us.

I shove them ahead of me and we hurtle back down the stairs. Misha's footsteps pound just behind us and my heart throb painfully in my chest as I urge the others to run faster. _Why am at the back?_

I blink wildly as we emerge into the sunlight and I turn to Flint, pressing my knife desperately into her hand.

"What are you doing?" Kelby demands as I try to speak through my frantic panting.

"You can throw knives, can't you Flint?"

She just looks at me with a mildly confused expression, "Flint," I say urgently, "you need to throw this at Misha, ok?" I watch her eyes to see if she has any idea as to what I'm actually saying. I've seen her in training – she hit the targets nearly every time and she's really our only shot right now.

She takes the knife and turns calmly to face the doorway. "Hit him anywhere, it doesn't matter – we just need to slow him down."

He stumbles out of the doorway, and I take an involuntary step backwards as I see the wildly manic look in his eyes.

"NOW FLINT!" I scream at her and she flings the knife towards him.

Misha releases a howl of pain as the knife thuds into his thigh and I grab Kelby and Flint's arms, forcing them to run with me.

I lose track of time and all I can hear is the sound of our feet thudding against the floor.

* * *

Remember to keep voting; you can vote on the poll, PM me with a tributes name, put a tribute's name at the end of your review or **PM **me the answer to the question :)

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _I don't remember much of anything of those years, kind of strange and kind of sad, considering all the laughs and all the tears._


	27. Facing Reality

_Day Two_

**Yari Meadows, District 11.**

I release a gusty sigh and stare up through the canopy of leaves that loom over my head, throwing shadows across my top and trousers. My clothes might be quite bland but at least I don't look like an elf this time – fortunately my stylists had no say in my arena outfit.

I glance around me in distaste – this arena isn't half as interesting as I thought it would be.

I shift my position slightly – my back is starting to go numb from having been lying on this branch for the better part of an hour. I prefer being up in the trees where I can keep an eye on the ground below me. Only thing is that I can't really bothered to stay on my guard any more – there's just zero action taking place and my eyes keep threatening to droop closed.

I turn over onto my stomach and let my head hang down over the side of the branch. There are a couple of scrappy little bushes at the bottom of the trees and a muddy patch, but that's about it.

I sigh again as I think of the prime position I had been in just a few hours before. After I had left the Cornucopia yesterday morning I had searched around for a spot to pass a few hours.

I bite my lip as I think of my actions yesterday; I hope that none of my friends back home think that I ran away because I was scared, because that had absolutely nothing to do with it. I was just being smart about it.

Don't get me wrong, I want to win and I'm definitely planning on fighting at some point – I certainly showed that District 10 kid who is boss in training – but fighting it out at the Cornucopia hadn't seemed to be the best idea in the world.

Though I might not enjoy admitting it, I'm not exactly the physically strongest tribute out there and I was hardly going to embarrass myself in front of my whole district by getting beaten up by some hulking great, thick as a plank of wood tribute. _Yeah thanks, but no thanks._

I had ended up stumbling across a small gurgling stream surrounded by leafy bushes practically groaning under the weight of a collection of colourful berries. I could tell at once that every single one of those bushes had contained edible berries.

I mean, I had tried to skive off school whenever I could, and I had certainly never been interested in helping out in the annual harvests, but I'd still picked up quite a bit of knowledge about edible plants. And I'd paid quite a lot of attention to that stand during training, when I wasn't demonstrating my skills at some of the other stations that is.

So, I had gorged myself on the berries and shoved handfuls of them into the roomy pockets of my jacket. I had slurped water at my leisure and spend a peaceful day at the edge of the water. In fact, I had actually planned to spend a lot more time there, but my plans had been scuppered by another group of tributes.

This afternoon I saw the first signs of life I've encountered since leaving the Cornucopia; that stupid group of girls suddenly appeared out of the trees, looking like they were running for their lives.

I was lucky that they seemed distracted by the fact that at least two of them had blood leaking out of various wounds as it gave me time to get away before they noticed me.

It had been a close thing though, and now I've lost my spot down at the stream because I don't doubt that they have claimed it for themselves by now. I'm planning to keep an eye on it though because I do want it back, and if they look weak enough then maybe I'll be able to take them out.

Maybe, but I'll need a weapon for that first. And at the moment I'm having to make do with a collection of small rocks that I collected down at the stream which could come in useful for throwing at another tribute. And the branch that I could make into a slingshot if only I could find something suitably elastic.

When I look at the bleak situation I'm in now, it makes me wonder whether I should have stuck around at the Cornucopia for a little longer.

But, I just had to prove to my friends and family back home that I could make it past the first day, and that I could survive on my own. Because I know that if I manage that then I will no longer have to put up with those dismissive looks from people back home.

The ones who try to hide their smiles when I fail at something I've attempted because I'm not big enough, or not strong enough.

Well, all I have to do is make it through these Games and then once I get back home I can waltz around town with my winnings, and everyone will know that I was good enough for something.

A smirk breaks out now across my face, just visualising their expressions when I return from the Capitol and tell them that they were all wrong about me. When I think about how my mother will never be able to ground me again, and how Matty will have a big brother that he can look up to and aspire to be like.

I guess I must drift off for a while because when my eyes snap open again the sky has darkened and I realise suddenly what had woken me up.

The anthem is booming out across the arena; this means that the face of the tribute that died today will soon be revealed to us all. I'm struggling to remember who is actually still alive and so I can't work out who it might have been.

I train my eyes on the sky intently and wait in suspense as the clouds begin to clear. The picture that appears is that of Chall, the female tribute from my district. A smug feeling surges through me as I know that now, I'll have the support of the entire district as I have to win for them to be given the extra supplies that are awarded to the winning district. _Ha._

It's not like Chall ever had a real chance of winning anyway –_ I_ may be short, but she took physical weakness to a whole new level.

I lean my head back against the tree branch and pull several berries from my pocket. I cram them into my mouth, and smile as the juices run down my throat. The Hunger Games definitely isn't as bad as they made out that it was going to be – I bet Kean is fuming at the mouth that I volunteered, but there was no way I was going to let him take the glory.

I guess I could have volunteered next year but in my eyes, there's more honour in being the first _ever_ victor of the Hunger Games.

I stretch and yawn widely, letting all the viewers know that this isn't fazing me in the slightest. So far I've escaped everything they have to throw at me, and I'm going to continue to do it right until the end.

I've just settled back down, intending to get in a full night of sleep to leave me well-rested for tomorrow when I hear a strange hissing sound coming from somewhere off in the distance.

I jerk my head up, immediately feeling alert and I twist my head round, trying to get a good view of what's going on.

I almost fall out of the tree when I suddenly hear a rush of footsteps, and two tributes burst out of the bushes below my, pelting away from the direction in which I had just been examining.

I narrow my eyes and squint at the pair – it's the girl from District 1 and the boy from District 2 and they both have expressions of sheer terror on their faces. It only takes me a split second to decide that I would much rather face them than whatever they're running from. Besides, the boy doesn't look in a good way – one side of his shirt is soaked with blood and face is pale in the moonlight. I can easily outrun this pair.

I drop down from the tree and land silently on the forest floor. Curious, I glance back between the trees, trying to see what it is, but then I turn back around and hurtle off in the direction I just saw them disappear off to.

There's something closing in me quickly though – I don't let myself to turn round but I just have that feeling that there is something there behind me and it's causing me to lose control of my limbs as I try desperately to outrun whatever it may be.

My footsteps pound faster and faster against the floor, but I keep stumbling on the vines and I'm struggling to keep my balance as I force myself to move even faster.

Finally my curiosity gets the better of me and I have to know what it is that I'm actually running from.

I twist my head round and my jaw drops open – a cloud of pale green gas is wafting towards me out of the trees, and as the tendrils grow closer I can see that the gas is stripping the trees of their leaves and effectively disintegrating everything that it touches.

I make the mistake of trying to run backwards as the gas still holds my eyes and I can't drag them away.

I catch my feet in vines, or something and fall to the ground with a resounding _thud. _Instantly I'm trying to scramble back up again. My fingers scrabble desperately against the muddy floor as I try to push myself back up.

My breath catches in my throat as my heart pounds fiercely in my chest and I stumble back to my feet, lurching forwards in my desperation to get away and almost falling over again. Instead my shoulders collide with a tree trunk and I push off it immediately.

I chance another glance back over my shoulder and the gas is surging towards me, extending misty green fingers menacingly in my direction.

I force my legs to move and my feet pound against the ground as I run, I keep my eyes focused on the ground this time, refusing to let myself get tripped up again.

I can't keep it up for much longer though, my breath burns in my throat and I yearn for a drink. The noxious smell of the gas fills the nearby forest and water streams down my cheeks as it stings my eyes.

The water blurs my vision and I collide once more into a tree and I can taste the bile beginning to rise in my throat and I retch violently onto the forest floor.

A howl suddenly bursts from my mouth as the gas brushes against the bare skin on my arm and heat erupts viciously against my flesh – the pain sears across my skin and I can't control the yelps of agony that are dragged from my mouth as the gas burns me.

I start running once more, though I can barely think through the pain and I press my hand against my arm without thinking, as though that can somehow suppress the pain.

I moan as it collides against the burn and fresh agony scorches up my arm. I yank my hand away and scream as it tears flesh away with it, leaving my arm raw and bloody.

All I want to do is stop – give up and just curl into a ball and let the gas disintegrate me in the same way as it has the trees. Nothing is worth feeling this. Nothing is worth this burning, all-consuming torture and I can't breathe. And what does it matter anyway?

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts of stopping and giving up that I barely even notice the fact that there is nothing more burning my skin. That the chemical smell, that only moments ago filled the forest, has begun to retreat.

It takes me tripping over another vine and landing heavily onto my wounded arm that brings me to my senses. The pain that surges through me brings tears to my eyes makes me suddenly sit up alertly and glance at the area around me.

The gas has disappeared as quickly as it arrived and I groan in relief – I don't think I could have kept going any longer.

I take a take breath of the now untainted air, and try to build up the courage to examine my wound.

_Do it quickly, _I tell myself, _just look before you wimp out. Think of everyone back home – they'll think you're so pathetic if you don't look._

I bite down on my lip and look down at my arm. The sight of it causes the bile to rise in my throat again and I force myself to take several deep breaths to stop myself from actually throwing up on television.

The skin around the edges of the wound is black with congealed blood and what I can only assume is burnt flesh. Sickness threatens again as I consider this idea and I have to physically swallow it back down again.

The actual patch of skin where I had been burnt is worse though. It's raw and bloody and...

No, I can't look at it anymore – besides, what can I do to it? Anyway you look at it, this isn't a good wound, not even if I was somewhere safe with a cartload of medical supplies. In here – all I can hope to do is find a stream or something to dip it into and clean out the wound.

In the meantime I rip off the bottom of my t-shirt and tie it tightly around my arm to hopefully stop it bleeding and getting it infected with anything that might be in this forest.

I grimace into the now destroyed sector of forest that had been my safety zone for the past couple of hours – the place where I had thought I was going to get some sleep tonight.

As my arm throbs beneath my makeshift bandage I know that there's no way I'm going to get a peaceful night's sleep now.

**Misha Rolansky, District 10**.

I can't stop the voice from mocking me. It tells me that I'm weak, and unworthy of protecting Lena because I couldn't even protect myself from a group of frightened little girls.

I had killed one of them though – I had proven that I _could _look after Lena, that I would do whatever I had to do in order to get home to her and rescue her from the orphanage.

But the throbbing in my leg acts as a constant reminder that I failed to do what needed to be done. I had scared them, sure, and even wounded them. But they were nothing but surface injuries; I have to eliminate all of them if I ever want to see her angelic little face again.

Here, in this gloomy, straw strewn tower room, it's only the thoughts of her that are keeping me grounded and present in the arena. As long as I have something to get home to, then I have something to fight for and I have a reason to justify my actions.

Is it wrong though, that when I ran the sharp edge of my knife over that girl's throat and felt the blood gush over my fingers, that part of me had enjoyed it?

There had been a large part of me that had recognised the similarities between her and Lena and that had felt sickened by what I'd had to do. But another part, one that I had tried desperately to suppress, had enjoyed the power that the act had given me. Since my parents left me, and Lena was taken away from me, I haven't been able to control any part of my life, not even my own emotions. But taking someone else's life is something that I _chose _to do.

That's not wrong, is it?

_Of course it's wrong, you want to take care of a little child and you enjoy killing people? You're a monster and a failure. _

I shake my head determinedly, trying to block the mocking out of my head.

It makes me confused though, because one moment the voice tells me that I'm a failure for not killing someone, and then it tells me I'm a failure because I did.

I don't understand. I don't know what it wants from me or what I'm supposed to do to make it stop talking to me like this.

I feel like I don't understand anything anymore.

_Failure, you're nothing more than a failure. You can't do anything right._

No, none of this makes sense.

"What do you want from me" I yell, flinging my arms into the arm, the knife that I was holding flies out of my grasp and clatters against the wall. "What am I supposed to do?" I roar, the words tearing out of my throat as I shriek them at the ceiling, willing someone, anyone, to answer me and explain this to me.

A very distant part of me remembers that I'm on Capitol television right now, but most of me doesn't care. They're the ones who did this to me – destroyed my family, took away my sister and forced me into this arena.

I didn't want to kill people, but look what they've turned me into. All I can think about is death, and killing people. I can only see them as obstacles standing in my way – obstacles that need to be removed.

But I don't _want _to feel this way – don't want to have to admit that I enjoyed killing that little girl. If they hadn't put me in here then I would never have known that about myself. And I was happy before – things were easier when I could just hide away and pretend. But there's no hiding in here.

I think of the pain in my mother's eyes when I had to avoid her so that I could hide the truth about Lena from her. I know that she understood I was concealing something but the barriers between us had grown too high for her to ask me what.

The Capitol have made me feel like a stranger to my own mother and forced me to lie to her.

I just want-

Suddenly I jerk to my feet as I feel something tickle against the back of my neck. I clench my fists and scan my eyes around the room. "Who's there?" I growl fiercely when no one is apparent.

I _wasn't _imagining it though, I know I wasn't.

_You really are going insane now._

"I'm not going insane," I snap. I know what I had felt – it was as if someone had breathed against my skin.

I press my fingers against the back of my neck and slump down so that my back is against the stone wall of the tower. That way, nothing can get behind me.

I wiggle my toes, revelling in the fact that I can do what I want now, and no longer have to wear shoes.

I jump again as I feel the breath, this time on my cheek and I clap my fingers against my skin.

_Definitely lost it._

I grit my teeth and try to ignore the voice.

_You can't look after a child if you're mad._

"I'm not mad," I yell, throwing my hands up wildly into the air. I kick the rucksack that lies on the ground and it goes flying. My supplies spill out of it and whack into the walls. I glare at it viciously and lurch towards it. Picking it up once more I hurl it towards the wall; a smile erupts on my face as one of the packets of dried food splits open and white powder floats down, coating the room like snow.

Look what I can do. Next time I meet those girls, they're dead. And when I get my hands on that boy from District 11 I'm going to tear him limb from limb and prove once and for all that I am capable of doing this, of being strong.

"Misha," ...

I swear violently and stumble backwards, cracking my head against the wall. I swear loudly as it begins to throb in unison with my leg and I can barely keep my focus through the intensified pain.

I know I wasn't imagining that – I can't have been, can I? I just feel so messed up – as if I can barely keep track of reality anymore and I have no concrete way of deducing what is real.

"Who's there?" I mutter, bending down to pick up my knife as I do so. I thrust it into my belt and then collect my bow as well, gripping it so tightly that the tendons on the back of my hands stand out. Finally I swing my quiver over my shoulder and ask again, louder this time, "Who's there?"

"Misha," the voice comes again, whispering from the corners of the room, but no matter which way I twist my head, I don't see anything.

My heart pounds in my chest and my stilted breathing sounds loud in the silence of the room. I draw an arrow from my quiver.

"Who is it?" I demand once more, but there's something niggling at the back of mind. Something telling me that I know exactly who this voice belongs to.

Dad.

"But you're dead," I say, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to be hearing the voice of your dead father, "you can't be talking to me," my voice rises in panic as my mind struggles to understand what's going on, "you're supposed to be dead," I scream, my voice echoing round the room and making me want to press my hands to my ears and block out the sound.

"Misha," this time I can work out where the voice is coming from – shrouded in the shadow that blackens the doorway.

Most of me knows that I should just clamp my hands against my ears and wait for the voice to stop and leave me alone, but there's a smaller part that wants to step into that shadow, just to see. I guess I need to prove to myself that I wasn't imagining this – that there's something tangible hidden in the shadows.

I take a step towards the shadow, my heart racing in my chest. My father had always been the one to hold our whole family together, and me together as well I suppose. So if there's any chance that it might actually be him hidden in those shadows, then I just have to know.

As I walk towards it something feels distinctly wrong – the air is cold and clammy – I can see my breath.

But I _need _to see.

The moment I take a step into the shadow though, I know that I made a mistake and I should have listened to my head as opposed to my heart.

There's certainly something hidden here – but it isn't the calming presence of my father, that's for sure.

I squint into the darkness, taking an accidental step forward as I do and I spin round suddenly, finding myself completely shrouded in darkness. I blink rapidly, but I can't see anything, no matter which way I turn my head.

That's when I feel the breath on the back of my neck and I know that I'm in trouble.

I turn completely around and let out an involuntary yelp as my eyes land on something watching me in the darkness. In the gloom I might almost believe that it was a person, but the way his body ripples slightly as though it isn't solid lets me know that can't be true

Whatever this is, it certainly isn't my father. But when it opens its mouth, it speaks once more in his voice. Calling my name and beckoning me forward with a spindly finger.

I stretch out my arms desperately, needing to encounter something solid to help me escape from this. But as I do, the figure opposite me begins to move towards me. The rags that it's dressed in rustle softly as it shuffles forwards. I try to take a step backwards – I don't know what will happen when it reaches me, but I do know that I don't want to find out.

I can't move though – my feet feel like weights on the bottom of my feet and I watch in morbid fascination as it closes the gap between us and I feel a vague hint of recognition, as if it is someone I should recognise.

My breath catches in my throat as its fingertips brush against my hand and my eyes widen in realisation.

This creature, or whatever it may be, is an image of me.

A twisted, distorted image of me with hatred glinting in his eyes and blood under his fingernails. His hair is matted and his mouth twists into a smirk as he realises that I've figured it out.

But I still don't quite understand.

The other me pulls a knife from somewhere in his clothes and takes another step towards me. His hands reach for my neck, but when I try and whack him away my hands don't encounter anything. They slip through his arm like he doesn't even exist.

The ground beneath my feet begins to shake and my hands flail around wildly, needing something to hold onto even though I know that there's nothing.

"I don't understand," I whimper in terror as he smiles as me. A smile that I've never seen on my own face, but that this other version of me wears so well.

Is this what I'm going to become? I don't want to end up like this boy.

The trembling of the ground intensifies as I try to twist my arm over my shoulder to grab an arrow, but I'm thrown off balance.

My heart thuds in my chest as the world seems to be falling apart.

The other me reaches behind him once more and I watch in confusion as he pulls a flat, square shape out in front of him.

He twists it round and I see something – for a second I believe that it's a picture, and I try to work out what he might be showing me.

But then I move my hand to the side of my face, and the figure in the painting does it too. It's not a painting after all, but a mirror

That's when something clicks into place. The other boy isn't what I'm going to become – he's what the Hunger Games have already turned me into.

Bile rises in my throat and I see spots of red in front of my eyes.

I can't be the monster that this boy is. I can't look at people with that vicious stare in my eyes.

He raises his eyebrows. "You're me?" I ask – needing him to contradict me.

He just nods his head and I press my hands to my mouth to try and muffle my screams.

_Of course it's you, just look at yourself._

I can't... I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be this person.

I don't care if this is just a Gamemaker trick, it doesn't change the reality of what they're showing me. And I don't want to do this anymore – all I want to do is be the person I used to be.

He lunges towards me. I feel a sharp pain in my arm and I gasp in shock. My vision blurs and the world ripples around me disconcertingly. I try to keep my eyes open but I can't keep a hold on my reality and my mind goes blank.

* * *

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out, but I had a _really _hectic week. :D

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _I couldn't spill my heart, my eyes gleam looking in from the dark, I walk out in stormy weather._


	28. Reunion

_Day Three_

**Salima Yandas, District 1.**

I feel _disgusting. _I don't think I've ever looked this horrible in my entire life; I know that my hair must be frizzy and full of leaves by now from having slept out in the open. I don't think I got a wink of sleep last night because I've never slept anywhere so uncomfortable in my entire life.

It's so degrading to look like this on national television, knowing that all the gorgeous Capitol citizens will be watching me, and judging me.

Another moan escapes Zack's lips, and I push past him as he comes to a stop. The only reason I allied with him in the first place was because I thought he might be strong enough to protect me, and I'd promised Leo that I would try to make it back and so he had seemed like my best chance at the time.

Now I'm embarrassed that I might look stupid in front of the Capitol because I didn't realise that Samura was out to get him, and by association, me too. If I had known that earlier I would have certainly avoided Zack.

"Salima, please," he whimpers from behind me, his breath coming in rough gasps and I turn around with a sigh. Perhaps under any normal circumstances I would feel bad for him, but I feel so on edge and my nerves are completely shattered. I have no patience left in me to deal with Zack anymore.

"I'm not just going to stand here and wait for someone to find us," I snap in irritation and turn away from him again to glance around me nervously. My hands slide to my empty belt as I dwell over our lack of any kind of weapon – we each carry a couple of fairly sharp sticks with us, but Zack uses his mainly as a walking stick anyway, and I'm fully aware that they can't compete against an actual weapon. I can't help but wish that Zack had been a little more productive at the Cornucopia.

"I'm not kidding," he retorts angrily, "but I can't keep going like this. I need to stop for a few minutes and check my bandages."

I can't help but wonder what he plans to do if they're dirty – the pack I managed to snag on the first day only had one set of bandages in, and even that was barely enough to wrap around his chest.

"One minute," I tell him and he immediately sags down against a tree. I hate being the supposed leader in our alliance – it makes me feel as if I'm holding too much pressure against my shoulders and I struggle to breathe whenever I consider the reality of where I am.

We haven't seen another sign of life in days and I don't know how much longer I can cope with just Zack for company. Still, as much as I may talk badly about him and as useless an ally as he may be, I know that I couldn't stand it in this arena if I was alone, and I can barely stand it now.

I hear a rustle in the bushes behind me, and my head twists round urgently, scanning the forest in front of me.

"Zack," I say, trying to keep my voice low and controlled even though I feel like screaming in panic, "Zack, you have to stand up now. We have to move."

I can't tear my eyes away from the forest, even though I can't actually see anything, I know what I heard and I'm sure that there's someone, or something, out there. "Salima, what is it?" he demands from behind me and I whirl back around.

"Just get up," I hiss at him, and start forward, reaching out for his shoulders. The look of horror on his face lets me know that I was right to think that there was something in the forest.

"Salima, watch out!" he rasps, trying desperately to scramble to his feet – he lurches towards me and knocks us both sideways where we fall to the ground with a thud.

A shriek tears from my throat as something huge and black throws itself at the tree trunk that Zack had just been leaning against. I clamber upright and my breath sounds harsh in my throat as my eyes take in the black leggy thing lying motionless at the bottom of the tree. A shudder ripples through me as I think of how panicked I used to get at the tiniest spider in my bathtub back at home.

I can hear Zack's quick, shallow breaths coming from behind me, "Salima," he mutters warningly but I can't quite manage to move my eyes away from the body of the spider. My legs shake slightly underneath me as I take in its massive form. "Salima, there are more of them – we need to move," Zack yells from beside me and I whirl around to face the forest.

A whimper escapes my lips before I can control it as the spider shudders slightly on the floor and I hear clicking in the depths of the forest. I don't want to see what's in there – I don't want to know. "Zack," I shriek at him, "what do we do?" The words tear from my throat and my hands shake as the clicking draws nearer.

"We don't have time to do anything," he says in a dull voice, watching something over my shoulder and he clasps his stick tightly. I spin around and a moan escapes my lips. Black shapes are scuttling towards us out of the gloom of the trees. The way in which the movement surges forward makes me realise that there are too many of them for us to face.

My hands tighten on my own stick and I hold it ready. I don't know quite what I'm planning to do with it – I'm no good at violence; everyone always drummed into me that anger and violence was unladylike and so I never let myself feel angry, or have the need to express something with violence. But then I suppose I've never had to fight for my life before.

The spiders begin to emerge from the trees; huge black hairy things. They seem so out of proportion that for a moment I believe they're going to trip over their own legs and then we'll manage to escape from this. But of course, the Capitol has more put effort into it than this and they continue scuttling towards us.

The first one reaches Zack, and he whacks out with his stick, sending the creature flying where it lands on its back beside a tree, its legs wriggling in the air.

I taste bile at the back of my mouth as they begin to close in on us and I lurch out with my own stick held in front of me. I begin swinging it wildly, shrieking as I do so, and my stomach churns every time I hear the crunch of the impact of the stick against a spider. I want to close my eyes, and pretend that I'm doing something else.

I yelp and bring my stick down hard onto one of the spiders before glancing over at Zack. He's having problems trying to keep the creatures at bay and, even as I watch, they begin to surge closer around his feet, stopping him from being able to move at all.

I try to move towards him, but every second that I'm not lashing out at the spiders is just another second for them to move closer to me and I know that I have to concentrate on protecting myself rather than my ally.

A desperate gasp escapes from my lips as more of them begin to pour from the forest and I want to throw my stick down onto the floor and just give up. What's the point in trying to protect ourselves when each one we kill, another one just takes its place?

"Zack," I rasp desperately, turning to him and meeting his eyes, "what do we do?"

"I don't-" the words die on his lips and he glances over my shoulder again. I immediately whirl around, assuming that the spiders have closed in on me but my jaw drops as I do so. They are beginning to retreat back into the forest, scuttling away from us. The ones gathered around Zack's feet begin to do the same, moving away from us as if they no longer care about getting to us.

I don't understand why they've suddenly disappeared. Why would the Gamemakers withdraw them before they'd actually managed to get one of us?

Then I stiffen as I hear footsteps closing in on us. It's the heavy footfall of someone running with a purpose and I know that we're in trouble. The dark haired boy from District 9 bursts through the trees and surveys us with a furious expression.

He holds a knife out in front of him with shaking hands – but I can read the determination in his eyes. The pack on his shoulders lets me know that he's far better fed than we are, and so will be much stronger than us. I don't want to fight him, because I know it's a fight that we won't be able to win.

His eyes flicker around him, looking at the forest that surrounds us as though he's searching for something.

There's a split second when I wonder why he's alone - I thought Samura and him were allies – but then he steps towards us and all thoughts flee my mind as I realise just how close to death I might really be.

"Have you seen her?" he demands, throwing his arms around wildly.

"Seen who?" I whimper, my eyes trained on the knife in his hands, "I don't know who you mean."

"Samura," he yells – he flinches as he speaks, as though her name causes him actual physical pain – and it becomes apparent to me how desperate he is.

"Griffin, I-" my words are cut off as he slashes the air in front of him.

"She has to be here," he says angrily, "where else would she be?" He looks at me as though he expects an answer to fall from my lips. When I don't speak his gaze switches to Zack, who's panting heavily and clutching his side tightly.

"She hates you," Griffin says, in an eerily calm voice. I might have been brought up to be polite, but even I don't see the point of practising courtesy in this arena so I don't understand why he's speaking like this. "I've been trying to find you," Griffin continues, "because I knew she'd be doing the same thing."

Something in his expression shifts as he says these words and he lurches towards Zack and I, his knife held out in front of him and his position tense and alert. His knife slashes through the air, just millimetres from my cheek and I yelp and jerk backwards.

I try to hit out with my stick, but his knife meets it in midair and there's a resounding crunch as it sinks into the wood. The top section of my makeshift weapon is sliced off and falls to the ground.

Zack staggers awkwardly towards Griffin, his own stick held out in front of him, but he looks like he's about to collapse to the floor at any minute. He wavers slightly where he stands and I try to suppress a sigh – I'd find this easier if he just stayed out of it.

Griffin turns his attention back to me as I aim the remainder of my stick towards his shoulder, but he knocks it out of the way again with the flat edge of his blade.

I almost lose my grip on the stick and I lurch forwards, throwing myself completely off balance and I start to panic as I realise just how exposed I am. I gasp, and desperately try to right myself as I can see Griffin preparing to swing his knife towards me again. But my legs seem stuck – and I'm completely unable to move, only watch as he closes the gap between us and I'm convinced that this is the end of me.

Suddenly Zack appears on the edge of my vision and aims the stick at Griffin's head. Griffin's attention is completely focused on me and so he doesn't notice.

The stick collides against the back of his head; his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground. I half expect to hear a cannon go off, but I doubt that Zack was able to hit him that hard. The wound that Samura gave him has weakened him badly.

I start to bend down, intending to take his knife and finish him off, even though I'm not sure if I'll be able to. But just as I do so, I hear footsteps pounding against the ground just behind me. I stiffen and spin around, my heart thudding in my chest as Samura barrels out of the trees, clutching a mace with a wild expression on her face.

"Get away from him," she yells, gesturing for us to move away from him, and then she glances down to where he's stirring feebly in annoyance, "you weren't supposed to get involved," she scolds him, "I was following them. I was supposed to do it by myself."

I bite my lip as she speaks these words, and my eyes roam over to Zack who stands beside me, swaying slightly and his face pale as he takes in Samura. She turns to both of us with a furious expression on her face. "Blondie," I stiffen as she turns to me, "I have no interest in you at this moment. You can either leave, or stay to help Zack – in which case I'll be more than happy to take you out too. But it would be easier for both of us if you would just go."

This is what it comes down to – do I care about Zack as an ally enough to risk my own life in order to save him? Even as I pose the question to myself, I realise that I already know the answer. It might be one that I will learn to regret if I ever get out of this place, but if I don't leave him then I'll never even have the chance to make it out of here.

"I'm sorry," I say, turning to Zack, needing him to know that I truly regret what I'm about to do, but this arena isn't a place for humanity or altruism – it's a place to think just of yourself and to understand that any bond you might form in here can't be kept forever.

I glance between Samura and Griffin, wondering if they are aware of this too and whether this is why their alliance had split up in the first place.

"I'm truly sorry."

I move away from Zack; my stride increasing in pace and length as I begin to run into the forest. I don't let myself look back.

**Samura Nightlock, District 2.**

Every time I glance down at Griffin who is still struggling to move on the floor it makes me hate Zack even more. I feel like I'm breaking apart at the seams – I want to take my time to kill Zack, to make him suffer for what his mother had done to mine and let her watch back home and regret what she did for the rest of her life. But I can't lose Griffin again when I already have once and I can't just leave him lying on the ground.

I know that I have to do the right thing – I have already chosen revenge over my alliance once and I can't do it again. I don't want to do it again because, as much as I might want to suppress these feelings that confuse me, I feel _something _for Griffin, and he's not dying because I had to punish Zack.

I take a step towards Zack, who looks so out of it that he can barely even register the fact that I'm standing right in front of him.

"This is really supposed to be for your mother," I tell him before swinging the mace.

It collides against the side of his head and I want to close my eyes as his body slumps to the ground, but I know that I have to watch the moment I've been planning ever since I was reaped.

The thing is though, as I hear the cannon go off, I realise that taking revenge should never have really mattered. All my life I had been concerned with payback and revenge and then, once I'd started training as a peacekeeper, with punishment as well. But, it's futile really because it doesn't actually achieve anything.

I place the mace against the floor and turn back to Griffin. I wasn't supposed to actually start caring about anyone in the Hunger Games. I volunteered so that I could die in the most destructive way possible, taking as many other people out with me at the same time. But then Griffin had to come and talk to me, be friendly to me. I'd planned a mission of revenge, and I'd assumed that I'd feel hollow after it was finished – as if I had nothing else left to live for.

I kneel down beside him and look down into his face, a face that had become so familiar to me even though I have only known it for a week. His mouth is transformed into a weak smile as he glances up at me. "I thought you were dead," he murmurs, his eyes focusing more as I lean even closer to be able to hear him.

"Well I thought you were dead too," I snap, not wanting him to know how scared I had been the past few days. It had only been when we were separated that I had realised how much I had needed to have a friend in this arena.

He tries to rise to his feet, but then winces in pain and drops back down to the ground again. "Griffin, are you..." the words trail off as I look down at him. What am I supposed to ask him? _Are you dying?_

My stomach curls in fear as I imagine how that would feel; to watch him die and know that I am powerless to stop it. I don't want to go back to that other person – the cynical one who pushed everyone away. Why did he have to get under my defences if he was only planning on dying on me?

"I'm fine now," he tells me earnestly, a stupid smile breaking out across his face as he looks up at me.

I sigh, "That's great, but do you reckon you'll be able to move at any point soon?" I ask impatiently, rolling my eyes as I do so. I don't want to sit around here, waiting for someone else to find us. What if little miss perfect from District 1 comes back to have a go? I still can't believe that she just ran off and left her ally like that – I know that you have to be selfish in these Games, but she could have given it a go.

I brush these thoughts from my mind and look back down at Griffin. "What happened?" he suddenly asks me, his eyes trained on mine and making me feel distinctly uncomfortable, "on that night? You were there, and then I blacked out, and you were gone."

I can't do it though – whenever I force my thoughts in this direction I can picture the face of that _thing_ looming at me from the darkness, but whenever I do, I get the feeling that I should be remembering something else as well - something important.

I glance at Griffin again – something had happened that made me choose him over taking my revenge on Zack. All I know is, I don't want to be the person I was anymore but I don't know quite what's changed to make me feel this way. Griffin's a part of it I suppose, but it's more than that – I feel like I can see myself clearly for the first time.

Ugh, I sound so ridiculous, particularly as should be helping Griffin rather than thinking about something which hardly matters anymore anyway.

"I stepped into the shadow," I mutter, moving my eyes away to glance around at the trees, "the ground started shaking, and then I blacked out." I don't want to tell him about the figure I had seen there because I don't particularly want to panic him. "Why did you pass out?" I ask him suddenly, confused.

"It was strange," he tells me with an almost blank expression on his face, "I tried to follow you – to go into the shadow as well – but... I don't know – it sounds stupid when I say it now, but I saw... They were _ghosts _or something. I mean – I don't believe in ghosts or anything, but they weren't anything else. And they just..." he trails off again, and I look at him expectantly.

"Any they just?" I prompt.

"I don't know – came at me. I didn't have time to do anything. And then I passed out – I don't know why. I just felt... a pain, in my arm."

_A pain in his arm_. I push his sleeve up urgently, examining his forearm closely. Nothing there – I push up the other sleeve. "Samura, what are you doing?" he demands, trying to move away from me.

I spot the mark on his arm as he speaks though and I move away slightly, rolling up my own sleeve to reveal an identical mark. He looks at me blankly, "what is that?" he asks, sitting up for the first time so he can look at it more closely.

"You have one too," I tell him in annoyance and he glances down at his own arm in surprise, "didn't you notice?"

He shakes his head; his cheeks redden slightly and he won't meet my eyes, "I didn't realise – I was preoccupied with trying to find you," he blurts out and I glare at him, lurching to my feet.

I _can't _deal with this right now. I want to be friends with him, but we're in the arena for _Panem's_ sake – what am I supposed to say to this? So I choose to ignore this comment and concentrate on the practical side of this instead.

"Are you feeling any better?" I demand – he doesn't seem as pale as he was before, and I'm impatient to get moving. In an ideal world, I want to make it back to the castle because I had felt strangely safe in there. Even though the shadows had been there – I'd heard the voice last night anyway, so I suppose it doesn't really matter where I am, it'll get to me anyway.

He nods, "we can go if you want to."

I feel slightly bad for this – I don't want to force him to get moving, but on the other hand I really don't want to stay here. Even walking at a snail's pace would be better than this. Plus I need to do something to stop myself from wondering about the identical marks on our arms. It's not like it matters anyway.

He clambers unsteadily to his feet and I reach out and take his pack for him, "I can carry it," he insists, but I just point to his knife.

"You can take that – but I don't want you slowing us down even more."

"Slow us down?" he demands, looking affronted. For a second I think I have finally done something to provoke an angry response from him, but then I notice the sparkle in his eye and I feel my lips curve reluctantly upwards into an answering smile. I roll my eyes at him.

* * *

The sun has reached its highest point in the sky, and the heat is almost unbearable. Griffin and I have long since removed our jackets, and once again I wonder what idiot thought that jeans would be a good outfit for the arena. You can't roll them up or anything, so I just have to settle for overheating.

We've almost reached the castle by this point – we had to take a long route round to keep ourselves concealed in the forest. I'm assuming that Aaron's alliance is still safely holed up at the Cornucopia and I don't think we're quite ready for a run-in with them.

"Wait here," I hiss at Griffin as the castles loom above us, and I dart away towards the edge of the forest, trying to be as quiet as possible. As I slip towards the edge of the trees I glance out towards the Cornucopia – there's no sign of activity around, but I stay crouched there for several moments just to make sure. I guess that they must be off hunting for other tributes. My stomach lurches suddenly as I think of Griffin – alone in the forest. He might have recovered from his earlier beating, but I don't even want to imagine him being found by some other tribute.

I dart back through the forest, not even giving myself time to think that maybe the idea of Griffin being in danger shouldn't bother me so much. I have to actively suppress a sigh of relief as I see him standing there completely unharmed. It doesn't help that he actually does look relieved as I return to him. I wish he wouldn't do this, because then it makes it even harder to keep pretending.

"Is it clear?" he asks, and I just nod my head in reply, not trusting myself to speak just yet as my heart still pounds with the memory of my worry.

We begin to walk towards the edge of the forest – we don't have to go that far in order to get back to the castle but we'll be completely exposed for that short space of time.

As we reach the last tree I glance back at Griffin, "just make a run for it?" he asks.

"We're going to have to," I reply shortly and he holds out his hand towards me. I look at it blankly, "what are you doing?" I demand – if he expects me to take it then he can just think again because I-

His fingers clasp around my wrist and he drags me out from the cover of the trees. I almost trip over my own feet as he pulls me forwards – I never realised what a fast runner he was before – and I swear at him in annoyance. I don't appreciate being dragged around like this.

We're at the castle doors in a flash though, and we both knock into them in our eagerness to get inside. It doesn't escape my notice that Griffin still has a hold of me, and the moment we step through the doors I wrench my wrist from his grasp and glare at him. ""If you do that again, I'll whack you," I tell him calmly, and turn away. "It doesn't look like anyone else has been in here."

He looks at me in amusement and walks over to the other set of doors. He tries them again, and sighs in impatience. "They're still locked."

I roll my eyes, "Yeah? I never would have guessed."

Something catches my attention on the ceiling and stare upwards in confusion. "Griffin?"

"Mm?" he says, preoccupied with pulling at the handle of the door.

"What's that?" He looks towards me and I point. "It's a bell, isn't it?" I ask him – completely clueless about why there would be a bell hanging from the ceiling.

"Yeah – it's a bell."

I glance at him incredulously – "that's all you're going to say? How about _why the fuck is there a bell on the ceiling?"_

He suddenly bursts out laughing at me – a second later he's realised his mistake because he clamps his hand tightly over his mouth. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Maybe I should have just let them kill you," I snap, my eyes still trained on the bell.

This doesn't quite get the response I was hoping for – his laughter just gets louder and he turns away from me to try and hide it.

I stomp across the hall towards him, and shove him in the back. He spins back around and grabs my wrists with his hands. "Get off me!" I yell at him, "I said before – don't touch me or I'll..." the words trail off as I spot something behind him.

I jerk my wrists to release them and dart to the wall. A long thing metal pole leans against the wall. This is no way that this was here the other night, either that or we were just so preoccupied that we didn't notice it. This seems strange to me though.

I pick it up and look pointedly towards Griffin, "do you reckon ringing the bell is worth the risk?"

He grins at me, "probably. But..." he glances at me expectantly, knowing full well that I'm planning to do it anyway. I want to see what's going to happen.

I manoeuvre the stick awkwardly towards the bell and after a lot of wiggling it around, I finally manage to tap it against the side of the bell. Nothing happens though, so I swing it again, slightly harder this time and it bangs into it. The ringing sounds out, wrenching through the silence that had settled upon the room.

For a moment, nothing happens and Griffin and I exchange a glance of disappointment. But then something clunks underneath the floor and the ground rumbles beneath my feet. Both Griffin and I lurch forward as we lose our balance and I clutch automatically onto his arm to stop myself from falling.

Something else clunks and there's a scraping sound from the corner of the room. I spin around, and we watch as a painting on the other side of the room begins to slide open. "Hmm," Griffin says, almost placidly from beside my shoulder, "maybe it wasn't worth the risk."

I laugh nervously in response to this, and my fingers tighten on the handle of my mace because I'm sensing that we're not going to like whatever emerges from in there.

A loud howl echoes through the room, and my stomach churns in fear as my imagination keeps throwing up images of what might be about to appear.

When the painting finally slides all the way to reveal a dark, looming cavern behind it I glance anxiously at Griffin as a creature begins to emerge from the depths.

I take an involuntary step backwards as it begins to advance towards us. It's a dog, or at least, I think it's supposed to be a dog. It's massive – with huge broad shoulders and widely planted feet with vicious looking claws poking out of its paws. Its size isn't what makes it utterly terrifying though – the dog has three identical heads. Six fierce yellow eyes are focused on us as it slowly steps across the hall. Three jaws filled with pointy teeth snap at us.

Griffin looks at me – his face pale with fear and I realise that neither of us have any idea how to beat this thing. It stands between us and the front door of the castle, so there's no way we can get away from it. "Samura," he says urgently and I look at him, "it has the key around its neck," he says, pointing towards the dog.

I look myself and see a frayed rope tied around its neck, with a rusty key dangling from it. There's only one door that key can possibly open. The dog isn't too much taller than we are and luckily Griffin is tall too, but I can tell the key is just slightly out of his reach. I glance towards his knife.

"I'm going to distract it," I hiss as we take another step backwards while the dog takes another one forwards, "and you have to get the key, alright?"

"You'll be in danger – it'll go for you and-"

"We're both in danger, you idiot," I snap at him.

"But-" I clamp my hand tightly against his mouth – I don't need to be reminded how unlikely it is that this will actually work. But what else are we supposed to do?

I wait until the dog takes another step and then I dart towards it. One of its heads veers in my direction, and it opens its jaws widely. A yell escapes from my lips as I duck to avoid it and keep running towards its legs, "come on then, you stupid mutt!" I shriek at it, bringing my mace down viciously on one of its front paws and causing it to howl in pain.

I can feel Griffin somewhere behind me, but I don't dare look round. The dog is jerking around wildly and I dance backwards to avoid getting swiped by one of its paws. I swing my mace again, deliberately aiming for the same spot and then I aim for his knee. Its leg buckles under the impact and it whimpers loudly.

One of its heads is trying to twist towards me and I back away as flecks of drool spray my cheeks. It can't quite get to me though and I swing my mace once more – whacking it on the side of its head.

Blood splatters against my face as well and I curl my lips in disgust as it mingles with the spit. "SAMURA!" Griffin roars from behind me and I smirk up at the dog before thudding my mace once more into its face.

Then I turn and sprint towards Griffin. He obviously got his hands on the keys and his fingers struggle desperately at the lock as he tries to open the door. My hands thud against the wood beside him as I try to stop myself from running straight into the door.

I can hear the dog lumbering after me – it can't move quickly because of the damage I did to its leg, but there isn't much space between us and it. "Griffin," I yell in a panic as the door still doesn't open. "Are you sure it's meant for that door? Maybe-" It clicks and Griffin shoves the door open, wrenching the key back out of the lock as he does so.

Just as I slam it shut again the dog thuds into it on the other side. Griffin grasps the handles and holds them tightly, clenching his face with the strain. "Lock it!" he yells at me and I snag the key from where it had fallen against the ground. I shove it impatiently into the lock, and twist it furiously.

We both sigh with relief as it clicks loudly and Griffin releases his grasp on the door. I turn around – in front of us a maze of stone staircases stretches out through the castle, and I can see various landings and doors dotted around on different levels.

I don't have time to take it in – I just grab Griffin's wrist and pull him up the set of steps that lie in front of us. The moment our feet touch the stairs, I feel a familiar clunking sound and I look at Griffin in panic. Surely not, surely it's not going to happen again.

The staircase begins to rotate around, shifting its position and I let out an embarrassingly girly squeal and clutch at the railings as it moves. It thuds into position – this time leading up to a different door and I glance towards Griffin in confusion.

"What just happened?" I demand, glancing around the castle.

He doesn't answer, and I realise that he's laughing at me again, "you've got something on your face," Griffin points out, a grin on his lips.

I remember the spit and blood that had landed on my cheeks before, and laughter erupts unexpectedly from my throat as I realise what I sight I must be. Griffin laughs in response to this, and I lean over the stone railings, trying to get a hold of myself as laughter shakes my body.

Griffin bends over beside me and I lean my head against his shoulder, not sure quite what I'm doing, but knowing that I'm glad he took pity on me that first day of training.

* * *

**Question: **Which song are these lyrics from? _And I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance, and up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness, because none of it was ever worth the risk._


	29. Feeling Helpless

_Day Three_

**Flint, District 7.**

I glance absently over at the other two who are engrossed in some conversation or other. I can't be bothered with small talk – it never helps anyone, and besides, my concentration is waning and I can't be bothered to follow what they are saying.

Instead I stare up through the trees overhead and try to make out the clouds. It always makes me feel calmer when I can see the clouds and they form shapes for me. It makes me feel less alone.

I lean over onto my stomach and trail my fingers in the stream that bubbles peacefully beside us. It seems so strange in this place full of death, that something so beautiful could exist, and that the water can flow on, glittering in the sunshine.

It's more difficult to form shapes amongst the water and rocks – but if I try hard enough, squint and strain my eyes, then pictures become apparent to me. Images that I know only I can see – and it comforts me.

The others seem oddly bothered by having to live in the forest – the mermaid girl especially – and they constantly complain about the mud and the cold air at night.

I'm used to living like this though – it's how it always was when I ran away at home. Those endless days and nights in the forest. Perhaps the solitude might have bothered some people, but I found it peaceful, to be by myself away from the judging eyes of everyone else in our district.

Sometimes I just wish that Opal and Garnet had left me alone in those forests, because life was so much easier before all of this.

"Flint," Kelby, the one with fiery hair, calls over to me. It's easier to ignore her though and I look down at my distorted face in the water. This is how all my past memories reveal themselves to me now – fuzzy around the edges. It's how I see my parents when I remember to think of them. Which isn't often anymore.

"Flint, you have a parachute."

I still have the cloth of the parachute that arrived yesterday – it's soft, and I stroked it with my fingertips as I fell asleep yesterday. I didn't have much interest in what it had brought though – the food had been perfectly nice, but not enough to fill us up and my stomach still feels hollow.

So I don't bother to turn around, because I don't particularly care.

I start suddenly as someone sits down next to me, and my first thought is to jump at whoever it is. But just as I whirl my head around I realise that Sasha is standing in front of me, the parachute clutched tightly in her hands. "Open it," she urges me tightly.

I can tell that she still feels guilty about shouting at me yesterday – saying that she'd thought I had better aim than that, and she would have done it herself if she had wanted him hit in the leg. I had understood though, because it would have been easier if that knife had just struck him in the heart.

I reach up, and take the parachute from her fingertips. Wrapped up in the string is a knife. The moment I see it I start to imagine all the pain and death that this could inflict on people, and it slips out of my hand, falling to the ground and sticking blade first into the soft soil.

"What are you doing?" Sasha demands, her old anger back on her face, but I can't keep my eyes away from the knife.

I imagine that the ground is bleeding where the knife had struck it – red blood seeping out of the hole in the ground. And then I imagine that wound on a human being.

"Flint," Kelby says softly from behind me, "if you don't want it, then we'll completely understand. Don't get me wrong – I hate having to carry my sword around. But... I suppose it will help us, and in here, we really need all the-"

"Will you please stop talking for one second!" Sasha suddenly explodes and throws her a furious look, "I'm so sick of you rambling on and on about nothing."

I like Fire Girl normally – she's nice to me and her talking on and on at me helps to distract me from the thoughts raging inside my head. But I can't help but giggle now at Sasha's words – because she does have a point, and right now I just need a moment to think to myself.

Sasha bends down and holds the knife out towards me, "You should take it," she tells me.

I don't like it though – I don't like the thought of this knife being able to pierce flesh and drain the life out of someone. It's like yesterday – I had tried to force myself to see those other tributes as obstacles. People standing between me and getting back home, so I had thrown myself at them without a second thought, because in the moment something else had been controlling me.

But afterwards - when I look back - ...

I sigh, and take the knife from her outstretched hand. She looks slightly relieved as I do so but I glance away from her as I shove it into my belt. It's almost as though I can feel it weighing me down the moment I place it there, and I look upwards, to see the sky and distract myself from the knife.

Kelby and Sasha both take another drink from the stream, but I'm starting to visualise serpents and fish with jagged teeth beneath the calm surface. It's always the things that appear calm, that tend to hide the most violence underneath them. It's just like my father – on the outside he had appeared in control of his emotions, but he wasn't always like that.

It's like the time I saw him with my mother. When he started hitting her, and wouldn't stop, no matter how loudly I screamed. If I close my eyes now, I can still picture it almost perfectly. Although sometimes, in my head, I see the flames licking up the walls while he hits her, even though I know those two things happened at different times.

"Cey-Flint?" Kelby asks me – and annoyance bubbles within me as I realise what she had just been about to call me.

"I've told you," I burst, unable to control my temper - after the memory of my father, I don't want any connection with him, "that's not my name. Don't call me it – it's not my name. It's not-"

"Flint," Sasha cuts in smoothly, "I've already told Kelby to shut up, please don't make me tell you too."

And so silence reigns in the camp once more. I don't like silence – it gives me too much of an opportunity to conjure up shapes within the shadows of the forest or to see memories of the fire in my mind. But silence has been predominant ever since we found this place yesterday – scared, and bleeding we had stumbled across a stream.

I had sworn to the other two that I had heard someone else moving about, but they hadn't listened to me, as always. No one appeared anyway – so somehow three fairly useless looking girls had scared someone else off. Whoever it was is in even a worse position than we are.

I sigh as I think of Chall though, and the way Misha had just sliced straight through her throat as though he couldn't care less. That poor little girl – she hadn't stood a chance against him, and we hadn't stood a chance of saving her. Everything had happened so quickly, and now I still have blood stains on the tips of my boots, despite the fact that I had dipped them into the stream. I can't look at my shoes without seeing her scared little face.

"So," Sasha suddenly announces, her voice cutting smoothly through the silence and disturbing me, fortunately, from my thoughts, "we need to start planning how we're going to beat Aaron. I mean, we've already taken down one of his allies – and now it's just him, that guy who stares all the time and a little girl. I reckon we stand a pretty good chance."

I'd like to agree with her – it's normally in my nature to look on the bright side of a situation, but in this place I just can't bring myself to think like that. I just feel helpless – I was helpless to do anything to stop Misha yesterday, and so surely there's no point in trying to take Aaron down.

No one replies and the camp descends once more into silence.

"We'll go spy on them," Sasha announces, her voice ringing determinedly through the trees. I sigh, and force myself to my feet. I tear my eyes away from my shoes – but it's too late, and once again I hear the splatter of blood against my boots.

It's hard sometimes – to keep myself in the present when the memories threaten to overwhelm me like this.

I force myself to look up towards the sky – _find shapes in the clouds, Flint, _I tell myself, seeing first a bird and then a tree. It's easier than focusing on reality – I can picture a small colourful bird chirping away on a branch. That way, I don't have to see what actually surrounds me. Yes, much easier.

As we head towards the edge of the forest another argument breaks out between Sasha and Kelby. I tend to stay out of these disputes – it's not like they particularly care about what I have to say anyway. Besides, I don't like arguments – shouting and screaming; there's really no need for it.

"Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to make a plan?" Kelby is demanding angrily as I close the gap between us. She's taken Chall's death the hardest out of all of us – she had been close to her, I could see that.

"I do realise that," Sasha retorts, her voice tinged with guilt, "but I don't have any other ideas. We need to see what they're up to."

"What's the point?" Kelby snaps, "it doesn't make any difference whether he's alive or dead."

Sasha whirls round and we come to a stop. "Don't you understand the Hunger Games? He has to die if you want to live. If any of us want a chance at living."

Kelby sighs and I press my nails into my palm. Then my eyes catch sight of something in the trees – my lips curve upwards as I recognise the small furry shape; a squirrel darts up one of the branches. I had used to feed the squirrels back in the forest at home and in return they had kept me company.

I open my mouth, and a song spills from my lips to try and mask the sounds of their arguments. The only thing is, I've never really been that good at rhyming.

"If I was a squirrel I'd live in the trees, up there you have to watch that you don't skin your knees, safe in the branches and safe in the leaves, I sure hope a squirrel doesn't crawl up my sleeves."

I draw a deep breath, and find the others watching me incredulously. "Oh how I wish I was a squirrel..." I trail off absently as I realise there probably isn't a word that rhymes with squirrel.

"How about, then I could spend all day running in a circle?" Kelby asks, a thoughtful look on her face.

Sasha bursts out laughing, and I can't help the giggle that escapes from my own throat. "I hate to point this out," she splutters through her laughter, "but squirrel and circle do _not _rhyme. As in, not even a little bit."

Kelby's own shoulders begin to shake with laughter and she stumbles slightly, "well, you think of something then," she complains.

"Oh how I wish I was a squirrel," Sasha begins to sing, "or even better, how... um, how about a... turtle."

Now it's my turn to burst out laughing and I sing her lyrics back to her, "Oh how I wish I was a squirrel, or even better how about a turtle. Then I could spend all day scampering around..." I look pointedly towards Kelby for the next line.

"With a fluffy little tail, all cute and brown," she sings with a smile on her face, and I clap my hands together in excitement as I run back over the song in my head. I've never written a song with more than one verse before – I can never find enough rhymes, and then I get bored and forget about it. But this one is a masterpiece.

"From the top," I announce, jumping onto a tree stump that lies in the middle of the clearing, "One...two...three!"

The three of us burst into song, our voices cutting through the subdued air of the forest,

"If I was a squirrel I'd live in the trees,

up there you have to watch that you don't skin your knees,

safe in the branches and safe in the leaves,

I sure hope a squirrel doesn't climb up my sleeves.

Oh how I wish I was a squirrel,

or even better, how about a turtle.

Then I could spend all day scampering around,

with a fluffy little trail, all cute and brown!"

Sasha finishes last, after deciding to hold the last note for as long as she can. Then she explodes into laughter once more as her voice cuts itself off as she becomes too high. "You realise we just gave away our presence to everyone in the vicinity," she says.

"That you did," I jump violently as a voice sounds in the clearing. A voice that doesn't belong to any of the three of us. Sasha immediately sobers up and we tense in fear as a branch breaks somewhere in the forest.

The little girl emerges first, "Lien," Sasha hisses under her breath. I glance sideways at her, and find her with clenches fists.

"Well done," she says sarcastically, "you want a medal?"

"You want a book on better put-downs?" Sasha retorts viciously, and the relaxed atmosphere of only seconds ago dissolves completely as Kelby draws her sword from her belt. My own hands drop to the knife at my belt – but I'm still hoping there's a chance we can get out of this.

Then a boy steps out from the forests and stands just behind Lien. "Well, hello Kye," Sasha says, a flirtatious tone entering her voice as she glances at him. She rolls her eyes as she spots the incredulous look on Kelby's face. "What?" she demands, "just because we're about to fight him, it doesn't mean that I can't appreciate his hotness. Even if he looking a bit pale."

"I'm not sure if hotness is a word," I mutter absently.

"Well, I'm fairly sure it is," she replies lightly, "it's certainly one that I use a lot anyway."

Kelby laughs, "well yeah, you would. I don't think _I've _ever heard anyone say it before, and-"

"Will you lot please shut up," Lien snaps, "you're giving me a headache."

"And you're giving me eye-ache," Sasha retorts, "you know, because you're so _ugly."_

"I think you should keep that book of put-downs for now, Lien answers, not looking remotely fazed.

"I don't think eye-ache is a thing either," I point out.

Lien shoots me a filthy look, "Shut your mouth, freak. I saw you at your interview, you're pretty much insane, right?"

"Something like that," I say with a shrug, and I rip the knife from my belt and launch myself towards her.

"Mistake," Sasha says fiercely, "don't call her a freak." I feel her move behind me and in one swift movement she pins Lien up against a tree. She wriggles and glares at us viciously.

"Let me go," she shrieks wildly, and she spits at Sasha, the flecks landing on her cheek.

"Oh, you just made a _very _big mistake," Sasha says dangerously, narrowing her eyes, "you are-" her words are suddenly cut off in a yelp of pain and she stumbles away from the tree, swearing explosively. Lien slides down to the bottom of the trunk and I glance behind me.

Kye is holding out a vicious looking metal pole and Sasha is hopping around the clearing, clutching her wrist and shrieking obscenities at him. Meanwhile, Kelby is leaning against a tree, trying desperately to get her breath back and clutching her sword with shaking fingers.

Lien barrels into me, but she recoils as I hold up my knife. She sees reluctant to use the knife that rests on her own belt. I slash mine into the air in front of her and she glares me, "Watch what you're doing with that," she yells, trying to wrestle it from my fingers. Behind me I hear the clang of metal against metal, and assume that Kelby is fighting Kye.

Lien is like a slippery little fish – she evades my knife again and darts behind me. "Kye," she shrieks and he casts her a distracted look, enabling Kelby to catch his arm with the sword. A hiss of pain escapes from his teeth.

"Kye," I start shrieking out his name as well – Sasha does the same, obviously catching on to what I'm doing.

Lien glances between the two of us, "C'mon Kye – we have better things to do than fight these freaks."

"You're not fighting us anyway," I point out, and Sasha titters slightly in response, even though her mouth is still twisted in pain.

"We need to get Aaron – he's nearby, and he'll murder us if we take Sasha down."

"Lovely to know I mean so much to him," Sasha calls sarcastically, and I laugh.

"You get him then," Kye yells through clenched teeth, "I'm sort of in the middle of something here." Kelby blocks his weapon again as Lien disappears into the trees. I watch Kye for a moment – his movements are slow and Sasha was right, he is pale - something has obviously happened to him. He's still strong though – I doubt we can beat him, but we might be able to get away from him. I don't want to wait around for that blonde giant to turn up.

I exchange a glance with Sasha, and am surprised when she nods in response. I'm not used to being paid much attention to – people usually just dismiss my plans as insane, but this is the second time in two minutes that she's chosen to follow my lead.

"Kelby," Sasha shrieks at her – Kelby gets the hint instantly and slashes at Kye once more with her sword. She doesn't manage to hit him, but he stumbles back and gives her the chance to get away that she needs.

I grab their hands – making sure not to take Sasha's left hand, which is still cradled against her chest, and we sprint out of the clearing. I never imagined that I might become respected in this arena.

**Harrow Followill, District 12.**

I look over at Rivka in concern as she sucks in air painfully between her teeth again – for the past hour I've been aware that any step she takes is causing her pain and I've suggested that we stop more than once, but she has refused every time.

"Rivka," I mutter under my breath, "let's stop for a bit." I've done my best with what we had in our rucksack, and what we've been sent since – although I'm quite surprised that we have any sponsors at all – but I'm aware that it isn't good enough.

They've sent all three of us knives – but I would really rather they had sent us medicine instead. Every time I glance at the knife on my belt, I can't help the shudder that ripples along my body. I've never liked weapons – things that are designed to hurt people. It goes against the very thing I believe in; helping people, not hurting them.

"I don't need to stop," she snaps. It's strange; I never would have believed that Rivka had a temper before I came into the Games with her. I smile to myself – it's amusing to me that such a little girl could have such a surprisingly fiery temper, particularly when she's in pain.

"I think it would be a good idea to change your bandages," I tell her firmly, and then I call out to Olive, who walks a little way ahead of us, lost in her own thoughts. I sigh as I look at her. So far Rivka and I have managed to keep the voices from her – we haven't revealed anything that we have heard during the night, and I keep insisting that I take the night shifts, which makes it easier to hide.

I can't keep it up though, because despite the fact I had a quick nap this morning, my energy reserves are lacking. As an aspiring doctor, one of the first things I learned was that there are very few ailments that can't be cured by a good night's sleep – often illnesses are misdiagnosed, when all it really is, is sleep deprivation.

Rivka slumps grumpily onto a tree stump, and gestures to her shoulder. I bend down beside her with a grin, and gently ease the bandages off, trying to suppress the hurt that rushes through me as she winces.

"You ok?" Olive asks, crouching down in front of her with a gentle smile on her face.

"Of course, Jabber," Rivka answers, a grin finally breaking out across her face for the first time since we set out this morning. As I watch them together, I can't help but wish that I could put them somewhere out of harm's reach in this arena. I don't think I've ever seen a pair of such innocent, fragile looking girls, and I'm fully aware that this arena has the power to change them vastly.

_This _is why I hate the Capitol – not for my sake, but because I know Rivka and Olive will never be the same again. I'm supposed to be able to protect people like them – that's the reason I picked up that first medical textbook, but the Capitol have taken that away from me. Without that, I'm running out of things to cling onto.

"Harrow?" Rivka asks me in confusion, and I realise that I'm just sitting there, staring into space.

"Sorry," I say dully, forcing myself to focus. I have to help Rivka's arm to heal – that's what I shall concentrate on for now, and put the rest out of my mind.

"You know," Olive suddenly murmurs, glancing around at the forest, "I think we might be walking in circles."

Rivka starts to laugh, "Ol, I'm not being rude – but it's a forest. It looks exactly the same no matter where you are in it."

Olive smiles softly, "No, I recognise that rock. Look, it's shaped like a dog." She looks slightly awkward as she tells us this – one thing I've realised is that Olive is extremely smart, and also extremely reluctant to show it. I glance over at the rock, and I can understand what she means. It has a certain dog-esque shape to it.

"It just looks like a rock to me," Rivka says, determinedly avoiding looking at her shoulder. I can't say I blame her; it doesn't look in a very good way. Despite the fact that it's been safely bandaged up and smeared in antiseptic lotion, courtesy of our sponsors, the edges of the wound are starting to look dangerously black, and I'm starting to run out of ideas. I just don't have enough supplies.

I managed to find some leaves yesterday – ones that I've used sometimes back home for drawing out infection, and I applied them to the wound along with the cream, but it doesn't seem to have made much of a difference. I'm working hard not to let Olive and Rivka know just how bad it's getting.

"I don't know," I say, joining in their conversation, "I can see the dog resemblance. And Rivka? Maybe we should trust Olive – after all, we call her Jabber for a reason."

"Ha!" Olive bursts out – making me slightly surprised as she normally doesn't like to raise her voice, "What did I tell you?"

"Fine, miss 'Clever-clogs'" Rivka retorts, a grin spreading out across her face, "are you done yet Harrow?" she asks me.

"You're so impatient," I tease her as I finished wrapping a clean bandage around her arm.

"I'm not," she says, but then her face turns more serious, "how's it looking?"

Ugh, I'm such a wimp; I won't tell Olive about the voices, and I won't tell either of them about the real condition of Rivka's wound. But what am I supposed to do? I knew that I was taking on the role of the protector when I joined this alliance – after all, it's the only role that I've ever known.

"Fine – it's healing well," I say brightly. Probably too brightly, because Rivka casts a suspicious look in my direction, but then she turns back to Olive and I have to suppress a sigh of relief that she's choosing not to question me further.

"Where are we going now?" Olive asks softly as Rivka climbs to her feet.

"We weren't going anywhere anyway, were we?" I say dully from where I still kneel on the leaf strewn forest floor.

Rivka gives me a playful nudge, "We're only three days in," she says, "you can't be turning depressive yet." I can tell from Rivka's face that she doesn't believe half the things she comes out with when she's trying to keep our spirits up, but I'm grateful to her for trying.

"You have to make a plan," Olive says determinedly, "when you have a plan, you have something to work towards, right?"

"Right," I say uncertainly, unable to actually think of anything we could plan to do. I understand what she means though – all of this aimless wandering around is getting us no where.

"Hmm," Rivka says thoughtfully from beside me, "I think I've just thought of one."

Olive and I glance at her in confusion, "what do you mean?" I ask her. She doesn't answer me, simply raises the hand of her good arm and points to something behind me.

I whirl around, and I spot it instantly. Another tribute stands in the forests just behind us. My jaw drops as I realise who it is – I'm looking into the wide eyes of that idiot boy from District 11. For a moment he seems frozen in panic, but then he whirls around and hightails it off in the other direction.

I glance at the other two – I know that that kid is an arrogant tool, but I'm not sure I can advocate killing of any kind. We only hesitate for a split second though, because I can see in the hard line of their mouths that they're determined to kill him. And the worrying thing is, that I can understand completely why they feel the need to.

So I find myself hurtling through the trees, following the noise of snapping branches that come from just ahead of us, hearing the desperate breathing of both Rivka and Olive who race along beside me.

I suddenly collide with something hard, and I grunt in pain as what I thought had been a tree suddenly falls to the ground beneath me. I fall on top of something soft and wriggling and I jump to my feet as I suddenly realise what it must be.

Yari sprawls at my feet with a reproachful look on his face. He scrabbles upright, and for a moment I'm too shocked to do anything, and my feet stay rooted to the ground. Just as I'm convinced that he'll escape due to my idiocy, Rivka tears past me and knocks straight into him. I hear a yelp of pain rip from her lips as he collides with her injured shoulder.

She tries to keep him on the ground, but he wriggles up again, knocking her to the floor in the process and she doesn't seem able to struggle back up again. I start towards him and grab the collar of his shirt before I even have time to realise what I'm doing.

With a flurry of snapping branches, Olive runs out of the trees as such a speed that she knocks into my shoulder and I lose my grip on Yari who then tries to twist around to dash off in the other direction.

He doesn't notice Rivka though, and she sticks out a leg from where she still lies on the ground, sending him slumping back into the dirt. "You're not getting away that easily," Rivka hisses through clenched teeth. My chest contracts as I imagine the pain she must be in.

Yari smirks up at Olive who stands over him, holding her knife in shaking hands and sweat beading on her forehead. "You know, you looked much better when you were covered in paint."

An involuntary growl escapes my throat as I remember the humiliation that he had caused Olive during the training. I can't understand why someone would want to make someone else feel bad like that.

"Don't you feel any remorse," Olive demands in an iron tone that I've never heard her use before. In fact, that I never would have thought she'd be capable of using.

"Not especially," he replies, glancing down at the floor with a bored expression on his face, "now could you just hurry up and realise you don't have the backbone to kill me, because then I can go and get on with my life."

I step towards him, and yank him roughly to his feet by his shoulders. "Get off me," he hisses, struggling wildly as I tighten my grip on him, "don't touch me."

"I don't agree with killing," Olive suddenly mutters under her breath, and Yari's eyes light up as she does so, clearly convinced that he's off the hook. I draw my own knife from my belt – if she won't do it, then I know that I have to. We can't just let another tribute escape from our grasp, particularly not one as vile as him.

I still can't stop my hand from shaking as I raise the knife though – I don't want to take anyone's life; there's enough pain in this world already and I had planned to cure it, not cause some of my own. But we're in the Hunger Games now – and everything is backwards. Just as I've almost talked myself into it and my mouth sets itself into a resolute line, Olive graps my arm and looks at me with scared eyes.

"I _have _to do it, Harrow," she says quietly, "I need to show that I won't just carry on letting people humiliate me all the time, and thinking they can get away with it," her voice begins to rise in anger as she speaks, "it's like my sisters – they think they can push me, and push me and I'll never react because I'm just _docile _Olive who is incapable of standing up for herself."

"We don't think that Ol," Rivka suddenly says from where she still leans against the tree, "you don't have to kill him just to prove something."

I nod in agreement, and open my mouth to say something in agreement with Rivka. But Olive whirls towards me, "Don't, Harrow. Please? Someone has to do it, and it should be me."

"It doesn't have to be you," I tell her, trying to adopt a calm tone when my whole being is begging to just let her do it. To let someone else take the responsibility away from me and keep my hands free of blood.

"Yes, it does," she yells at me, her face twisted in confusion.

Just as I think her resolved is wavering, and she's about to drop the knife, she suddenly slashes it against Yari's throat. An involuntary gasp escapes my lips as blood spurts out of the great gash at it neck and gushes down over my hand that is still gripped around his shoulder.

I'm not a squeamish person – I can't afford to be, training to be a doctor, but I jerk my hand away from him in horror, and his body slumps slowly towards the ground, his head lolling against his chest.

Olive bends, and wipes the knife against a grassy knoll on the ground – her face pale and her eyes sparkling with tears. I realise that I should say something to comfort her, but all that escapes from my mouth is a strange choking sound so I clamp my lips back together.

The cannon goes off, ringing through the forest and I start slightly, coming back to my senses as I do so.

Olive doesn't rise from her position on the ground, simply lets the knife fall silently and presses her palms against her eyes. Rivka stands shakily to her feet and crosses over where she sits.

"Ol?" she whispers softly, bending down and putting a gentle arm around her shoulders, "it's alright." Rivka's words break the spell of silence that had settled over the three of us, and Olive's shoulders shake as she begins to sob against Rivka.

"I shouldn't have... have done it," she whispers desperately, raising her tear stained face and meeting my eyes, "I know... it's not – not me, but... but – I just – I." Her words are lost to me as fresh tears spill over her eyes and trace their way down her cheeks.

I shake my head, my eyes not leaving hers and then mutter awkwardly, "At least you were brave enough to do it. I mean, I was just standing there like an idiot, and I..." I trail off, shifting uncomfortably as Rivka raises her head to glare at me.

"Harrow!" she exclaims in annoyance, "don't you have any sense of tact at all?" she demands, shaking her head at me.

Laughter bursts out of Olive's mouth at Rivka's words, and despite the fact it's slightly too hysterical to be real, it still makes me feel relieved. I never know how to handle crying girls – or really girls at all for that matter. That's what comes from living in a predominately male household.

"Idiot," Rivka says, grinning herself as she pushes herself upright. "You had to do it Olive," she says firmly, looking down at her, "it was the only way to get your closure. It was brave."

"It wasn't brave," Olive disagrees, shaking her head tightly, "but I guess that I did have to do it."

I nod encouragingly, still at a loss at what to say. When we had formed this alliance, I had assumed that I was signing up to protect Olive and Rivka from physical dangers. As stupid as it may sound, I had never even considered the damage that this place might be capable of doing to our minds, and I'm not sure if that's something that I'm equipped to deal with.

* * *

I really am sorry for the late update - I didn't actually think I'd be able to get a chapter up for at least a couple more weeks, but then I was off school ill for two days, so I managed to get this done :D Oh, and I also apologise for my appalling song-writing skills! Although I think it's more Flint-esque this way.

**Answer: **I realise I've forgotten to do this up until now.;) The Only Exception, Paramore (and yes, it was slightly connected with Griffin and Samura!).

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Or bow down and be grateful, a__nd say "sure take all that you see," t__o the men who move only in depleted halls, a__nd determine my future for me._


	30. Memories In The Night

_Day Three_

**Olive, District 3.**

Every time I close my eyes, I see the wide, fearful eyes of Yari in front of me. I don't want to keep feeling like this – I try to convince myself that he had deserved what had happened to him, after the way he had treated the other tributes and what he had done to me during training, but I can't bring myself to wish that sort of fate upon anyone.

Watching my knife moving towards his neck was like watching something in a dream – something that I had been powerless to stop, no matter how much I had struggled to gain control of my hand and move it in a different direction.

I jerk my eyes wide open once more and gaze over at the fire which flickers in the middle of our camp. No one has spoken much this evening – I can tell that Rivka is in quite a lot of pain because of her arm, and Harrow has been lost in his own thoughts ever since... _Ever since I killed Yari._

I sigh, and push myself into a sitting position so that I can rest my elbows on my knees and cover my face with my hands. They can't even look me in the eyes anymore, or maybe it's more than I can't bear to meet theirs. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now, but I've done something irrevocable and I have to work out a way of living with it.

The thing is though, it might be easy enough to tell myself that, but it's far harder to actually do. I mean, how are you supposed to get over something like that? The idea of death has always terrified me – one moment you exist, and then the next you don't. Or you do, but you're stuck in the ether, unable to reach anyone who is still alive. A shudder ripples through me as I imagine still existing, but being powerless to let anyone know that you're still there. And then I imagine the ghost of Yari watching me right now, and my eyes flicker warily around our small camp; convinced that he is out there somewhere, hoping for my death.

I can't believe that I have actively sentenced someone to an existence like that, even someone as despicable as Yari. I can imagine that he'd make a good ghost – and I can almost picture him in my mind; his eyes wide and waiting for someone to spill my blood just as I had spilt his.

"Ol?" My head jerks up in fright as I imagine Yari calling my name, but I find Rivka watching me with a concerned expression on her face, "are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," she asks warily and I laugh dismissively, whilst my stomach clenches tightly and cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

"I'm fine," I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her so she won't be able to see that I'm lying. But not quickly enough, so I see Rivka exchange an edgy glance with Harrow that immediately puts my back up for some reason. I've been feeling like this all evening though, so it's not surprising that the hint that these two might be keeping something from me riles my temper.

"What is it?" I find myself asking, before I've really thought it through properly. It might not be anything at all – maybe it's just that I've been acting oddly ever since Yari.

"Nothing," Rivka replies, far too quickly, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

"You two should go to sleep," Harrow suddenly speaks, clearly realising that I was about to question Rivka further, and wanting to stop an argument from breaking out.

"No," I say firmly, "_you _should get some sleep. You've barely closed your eyes since we got into the arena." The shadows under his eyes are dark and heavy, while his skin has turned a horrible ghostly white colour. I manage to suppress a shudder, but I keep my eyes focused on him. He has to realise that this could easily destroy him, and that he's really this alliance's only hope of surviving for any decent length of time.

Harrow just shakes his head and turns his attention back to the fire, which has begun to die down, and pokes at it with a stick. "Harrow?" Rivka murmurs from her position against a tree trunk at the corner of our camp, "Olive's right. You have to get some sleep. You look dreadful."

Harrow raises his eyebrows at her, "Well, thanks for that Rivka," he mutters sarcastically, "But I'm fine, honestly." He glances across at her, with that same expression on his face that he had just used moments ago, "besides, I don't think it's a very good idea, and you know full well why not."

I watch them in confusion – hating the fact that I'm clearly being excluded from something, but not quite being able to work up the courage to question them about what's really going on. Because what if it's just that they'd rather not have me in the alliance anymore, or that they don't trust me, or something? I'd rather be kept in the dark if it's something like that.

Rivka forces herself to her feet, with a grimace on her face as she does so, and my heart lurches once more. It's clear that she's not in a good way – Harrow's not that good of a liar, and I can tell from his face that it's a lot worse than he's letting on. Rivka knows this too, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement between the three of us that we don't discuss it.

She crosses over to where Harrow sits and crosses her arms with a furious expression on her face, "Harrow, you're going to sleep even if I have to sit here and hold your eyes closed until you give in. You're such an idiot – how is your lack of sleep going to help anyone?" she demands furiously, and I can't help feeling that she's gone slightly too far with this.

"Riv," I admonish softly, "I don't think that you need to-"

She cuts me off as she hisses, "No, I've had with this macho bullshit you keep trying to pull. Yeah – you're a guy, but you're still human, and I hate to break it to you but you need sleep as much as we do. From now on, we'll take shifts being on guard."

"Rivka," Harrow mutters, "we _can't. _You know that-"

"You know what else I've had enough of," she snaps, talking over him with an angry glint in her eyes, "the fact that we're keeping secrets from each other. Olive," she turns towards me, the anger on her face dying down slightly as she does so, "there's something we have to tell you."

I brace myself for something bad, but then something else happens. I feel something on the back of my neck – like a cold, clammy breath against my skin and I yelp in terror, charging to my feet and whirling round, convinced that another tribute stands just behind me.

If anything, my fear intensifies as I realise that there's no one standing behind me and my mind immediately jumps to just one conclusion. _Ghost._

"Olive?" Rivka mutters, "I-" then her words are cut off as she starts and claps her hands against the back of her neck. "It's started again Harrow," she whispers, a scared note in her voice.

I look between them blankly – my heart still thumping in my chest, and my mind conjuring up all kinds of ghostly images between the trees as my eyes flicker rapidly around the small clearing. "What do you mean, _again?" _I demand furiously, realising that this must have been what they were keeping from me. "Did you feel it-"

My words turn to dust inside my mouth as I feel breath again, on my cheek this time and I slap my hand against my skin as if there will be something tangible for me to touch. My head wheels around wildly – I'm half expecting to see the face of Yari somewhere amongst the trees, because what other ghost would have the motive to torture me like this? _This _is most certainly punishment – and Yari is the only thing that I can imagine I would be punished for.

"Olive," Harrow says urgently, rising to his feet and looking about warily as he walks towards me, "this has happened during both nights so far and-"

My anger is momentarily quelled at the realisation that this isn't just aimed at me, and therefore it can't have anything to do with me, but then it surges once more as I think of the two of them, whispering about this with one another and never even considering telling me."What do you mean? It's been happening for two nights, and you never thought to tell me?"

"Olive, you have to calm down. There's a reason we didn't-" his words break off and fear passes over his face. He presses his hands to his cheek in the exact same way as I had just done.

"What is it?" I find myself shrieking at him, unable to stop my mind from conjuring up pictures of ghostly creatures that I can easily envisage as having breathed on my neck. A shudder ripples through me, and I start backwards, almost tripping over the roots of a tree.

"Olive, whatever it is, it can't hurt you. It usually stops after a while," Harrow says gently, and it seems to me that he's treating me like a scared little creature – approaching me slowly with his arms outspread and his voice barely rising above a whisper.

"How did I sleep through this?" I demand, still confused about why they haven't told me. Unless they wanted to see me panic like this, which I highly doubt.

"We tried to be quiet," Rivka mutters in response, "we had to keep it from you, because... because – well, you..." she trails off, leaving me staring at her blankly and trying to decipher her words.

Then everything becomes clear when something whispers my name through the trees and Harrow clamps a hand down against my lips to stop the scream that tries to tear its way out of my throat.

_There's something after me, something that wants me. _All I can see is Yari – his throat dripping blood and his arms outstretched and reaching towards me with an almost manic glint in his eyes.

I realise it can't be Yari, because they said it had been happening every night since we arrived in this arena, but it still doesn't stop the images of him from forming in front of my eyes. I can remember his face so clearly, that all I have to do is close my eyes, and there he is, brandishing a knife and aiming towards my throat.

"Olive!" Rivka says tightly, shoving Harrow out of the way and clutching my shoulders firmly, looking into my eyes with an impatient expression on her face. "You need to be quiet – there might be someone around."

I jerk back, shaking off her grip and I press a trembling hand against my eyes, "I don't understand," I hear myself whisper, though I'm not really aware of anything that's happening anymore; time seems to be flickering by alarmingly slowly and everything looks too bright, and slightly fuzzy around the edges.

I hear the _thing _whispering my name once more, but I'm unable to decide whether this noise is coming from inside my head, or whether it's really happening. I don't understand anything that's happening, and the world seems to be messed up. Trying to keep track of what is actually going on is making me feel dizzy, and the floor seems to be swooping beneath my feet; I find myself completely unable to keep my balance and I feel my knees starting to buckle underneath me as I see Yari's face once more, remembering the sinewy feel of his neck against my knife.

I know that something's wrong, but there's nothing I can do it stop it and everything around me suddenly starts to turn black and I can't quite keep a hold of myself. In this strange, too-bright world where I'm struggling to say conscious, something suddenly fits together, and my knees finally give way, sending me lurching to the ground and bringing my mind back into focus.

"It's my father," I whisper as the realisation hits me – the voice isn't some creepy voice of an unknown ghost, or the vicious tones of Yari, it belongs to the man who had once held my whole world together and kept the bad things from hurting me so much.

I see Rivka drop to her knees in front of me, "Whatever it is, I can promise you that it isn't your father. How can it be? This doesn't make any sense."

I start shaking my head determinedly, filled with denial as I imagine being able to see my father once more – remember him the way he had always been throughout my childhood, rather than hanging at the end of a rope, a sack obscuring his face from my view.

"I have to see him," I yell, pushing Rivka's hands away as she tries to reach out for me, and I try to scramble back to my feet, knowing that his ghost must be out there somewhere, waiting for me to come and find him.

"No, Ol," Rivka says as I take a step back from her, and feel Harrow's hands against my shoulders, holding me firmly. "It's a Gamemaker trick, it can't really be your father."

And suddenly, stupidly, tears are spilling from my eyes and trickling down over my cheeks as the realisation of what I've done really hits me for the first time and the conviction that it could really be my father evaporates as I remember where I actually am, and how much power the Gamemakers have over me, to make me feel like this and force me to remember my father when it just makes things so much worse.

"But I want it to be him," I find myself whispering softly, still unable to stop the tears rolling down my face and Rivka's face softens in sympathy.

"You can't let them get to you," Harrow whispers from behind me, and tightens his grasp on my shoulders very slightly.

"But, I just needed... it was supposed to be – I just have to... see, I..." my speech breaks down completely as sobs erupt from my throat and my chest shakes violently as I try to bring my emotions back under control.

Rivka steps towards me, and wraps her arms firmly around me as all I really want to do is just give up – as the memory of Yari, and my father's death crash over me and threaten to overwhelm me completely. But as Rivka whispers soothing words into my ears and Harrow steps in front of me and meets my eyes with his determined ones I realise that I can't give up and let the memories consume me. So I promise myself that this will be the last time I will cry until I leave the arena, one way or another.

**Lien Axford, District 9.**

I grimace to myself as Kye begins yet another story about the _love-of-his-life. _I think I can now describe her in just as much detail as he can; yeah, thanks Kye – we get that she's 'amazing' and 'incomparable' to anyone that you have ever met before, but if he tells me that one more time then I won't be responsible for my actions.

Ever since the encounter with the squid yesterday he's been completely out of it – take today, I still cannot believe that he let that bunch of useless girls get away from him. He must be more injured than Aaron and I had assumed, if he can't even handle them. We'd arrived at the clearing to find him still there- he hadn't even bothered to chase after them once they had managed to escape from his pretty mediocre weaponry skills.

I had assumed that I had joined what was to become the strongest alliance in the Games, but we've already lost one member, and another one seems to have lost his nerve. Perhaps I actually would have been better off joining the bitch-alliance, although I probably would have taken my knife to my own throat by now if I'd had to put up with their inane gossip for more than about five minutes. I've always despised the girls like that; the ones obsessed with clothes, and boys. I don't if they've noticed, but there are actually more important things in life. This is why I'm glad that Trevor never had a girlfriend – he always told me that _I _was the only important girl in his life.

I sigh loudly, and stretch out my legs in front of me. I feel like we're losing sponsors by the second because we haven't killed anyone since the first day, and yet other tributes have clearly been taking each other out – even just today the face of the boy from District 2 and that annoying boy from District 11 had appeared in the sky. We're supposed to be the strongest alliance, but we're going to lose that honour if we just sit around and let the other tributes make us look stupid.

If there's one thing that I particularly despise, it's being made a fool of.

"We need to do something," Aaron suddenly pipes up from where he lies casually on his back, his head resting on a bright orange pack, "I've had enough of rambling around in the forest and not finding anyone. It's a joke."

I choose to ignore him – because actually, the more that I consider it, it would work better for me if the other tributes do just carry on killing one another, and we can just continue to ramble around in the forest and not come across anyone else. That way, the pool of tributes is narrowed without me having to get my hands dirty, something which I have successfully avoided up until this point.

"I don't think Amy would want me hunting the other tributes," Kye says absently from his position from the fire and I cast an annoyed glance over at him. The guy has definitely lost it.

"What do you think we've been doing up to now?" Aaron demands, sitting up and looking over at Kye with an incredulous expression on his face. "We need to find a way to find Sasha again, and this time, she's not getting away."

I grit my teeth at the mention of Sasha's name as I remember her pinning me against that tree with a furious look in her eyes. The girl is dangerous, no doubt about it, and I don't particularly want to put myself anywhere near her. But unfortunately my ally is completely obsessed with getting his hands on her, and being the one to end her life. I noticed it in training, but I thought maybe it might die down once we got into the arena and we had to deal with the practicalities of the situation. But that didn't work out – he has become more obsessed than ever, and I don't feel brave enough to try and stop him.

"The girl with dark hair?" Kye suddenly demands, his face filled with fear and I wonder if he sees Sasha as a big a threat as I do. Aaron nods his head and then Kye presses his palms against his face, covering his eyes from view and I watch him in confusion. He starts muttering away to himself, and when I lean to hear what he's saying, I pick up the words 'Amy' _no surprises there, _and 'dark haired girls.' I roll my eyes, and turn back to Aaron.

"And how are you going to take them down, with nutcase here?" I demand viciously, not wanting him to know just how scared of their alliance I am. Well, not so much the freak and that pale girl who thinks that she can use a sword, but more of Sasha.

"I don't need him," Aaron retorts, casting a scathing glance towards Kye who is still murmuring to himself. I groan quietly, I definitely should have chosen a different alliance to join – we must be the laughing stock of Panem right now, and there's nothing I can do about it. "I don't need some little girl to help me either – I can take all three of them out by myself."

"Good," I snap in response, "because I wasn't planning on helping you anyway. I don't want to go on a suicide mission."

Kye suddenly lurches to his feet with a terrified look in his eyes, one of his hands pressed against the back of his neck, and the other curled tightly into a fist. "What are you doing now?" Aaron demands, rising to his feet and standing in front of Kye with impatience etched onto his features.

"Kye, sit down, you idiot," I mutter. I'm just resting my chin against my palms when something tickles against my skin. There's a brief moment where I can't quite work out what I had just felt, but then I realise and I start violently upright, spinning around as I imagine another tribute breathing against the back of my neck.

"Not you as well," Aaron yells, "I must have the most useless, fucking alliance in this whole arena. It'll be a miracle if I make it out of here alive, seeing as I'm tied down by you dead weights."

"There's something here," I whisper, unable to stop my voice rising slightly in terror as I imagine the feel of a knife against my throat, "It felt like breath against my skin."

"It's how it starts," Kye says, seeming relieved that I can feel it too – but I'm not relieved at all; this was supposed to be in his imagination, everything he had said about hearing things in the dark. And then I remember what else he had said – something I had assumed that he was just saying in order to panic me. Something is going to whisper my name.

Aaron just rolls his eyes, ignoring the both of us, and starts sorting through several of the packs while I stand there, completely mute, and Kye begins to mutter once more under his breath.

Time stretches, and just as I'm about to move, Aaron jerks upright with an uncertain expression on his face. "You felt it too?" I ask him.

He doesn't respond, just grips his knife tightly and glares at the open stretch of land that surrounds the Cornucopia. There's no use though, because it's clear that no of the other tributes are anywhere near us. Whatever this is, it isn't something tangible that he can just fight off with his knife.

I narrow my eyes at him as he still gives me no answer, "Did you feel it?" I yell at him in frustration – needing to know that someone else other can Kye can also feel it, it makes me feel a bit more stable if that's the case.

"Of course I felt it," he snaps in response, the fear still obvious in his eyes .

I glance back at Kye who seems to have lost interest and is sitting back down again, "I assumed he was lying," I mutter and Aaron nods tightly in response.

"I know, I did too." I don't miss the worried glance he casts at me, and I clench my fists tightly in response. Ever since Trevor died, I haven't needed anyone else to protect me – I can take care of myself, which I think I've proved so far in this arena. I don't need looks of pity; there's no reason why someone might feel sorry for me.

"So, what do we-" my words die in my mouth as I feel the breath on my cheek and I release an involuntary yelp. Then I narrow my eyes angrily – I don't like being made a fool of, particularly not when I'm on national television – we have to get to the bottom of this. I've been brought up to believe that there's a rational explanation for everything, and I'm certainly going to find the explanation for this.

Kye looks up at me from his position on the floor and begins to mouth something at me. I watch him in bewilderment, and take a step back from him as his whole body begins to sway as his lips form words that I'm unable to understand. I exchange a nervous glance with Aaron who starts towards him, "Kye, you need to-"

But then his words are interrupted as another voice sounds through the trees and I jump in fright as it sounds at the same time as Kye's lips are moving. "Lien." My head whips around wildly and I'm convinced that there must be another tribute somewhere behind me. As hard as I try to search the landscape around me though, my eyes find nothing and I can't stop my hands from shaking.

Something about the voice sounds eerily familiar as well – not just one of the tributes, but as though it's a voice that I have heard for my whole life.

"Who's there?" Aaron calls out into the empty air, sliding his knife out of his belt.

"There's clearly no one there," I retort viciously, desperately trying to conceal by terror with angry words, not wanting him to know how much this is getting to me.

"Voices don't just come from thin air," he snaps, gesturing towards me with his knife, "what else am I supposed to do?"

"It's the shadows," Kye suddenly says, "it always comes from the shadows."

"Kye, would you please just shut up, for one second?" I find myself almost shrieking at him as the last shred of my patience dissolves and I reach breaking point. "Can't you just go find someone else to talk rubbish to? Because I've had just about enough of you rambling on and-"

"Lien."

And then something clicks in my head, and a name that I rarely have cause to say anymore spills from my lips, "Trevor?" The pain of his death hits me just as hard as it had the first moment that my mum had told me that he was gone, and never coming back, and my chest aches with his memory. His voice brings everything back to me – the way he used to read bedtime stories to me, adopting all the funny little voices and making me laugh. The way he used to carry me on his shoulders whenever I had complained of being tired. The way he had called me Pixie and he had been the only person who I had ever allowed to tease me.

I had never believed that someone could extinguish the breath from his lungs – that he could be there one day, and then just cease to exist the next. Things like that just don't happen, and the sound of his voice can surely only mean one thing. That he must be alive – that my parents had lied to me when they had sat me down to explain his death.

They can't have stolen his voice – it must be his whole body in the arena, and he's come here to save me. That is the only rational explanation.

But even as I think these words, and the voice sounds once more, I realise that something is vaguely wrong with this – surely it _isn't_ rational to be thinking like this? And there's a brief moment where I question what I had just discovered, but then I suppress these feelings. Trevor was always beyond the laws of nature – this is just the kind of thing that he would be capable of. It makes more sense for him so be alive than dead.

I understand what Kye had said about the shadows; the voice seems to be coming from the dark patch around the base of the Cornucopia, so that must be where Trevor is standing, and waiting for me.

Just as I take a step towards the shadows, my limbs quivering in the anticipation of seeing him again, something hits into my side and I fall sprawling to the ground. I claw desperately at the dirt, trying to scramble upright again while something heavy continues to hold down my shoulders.

"What are you trying to do?" Aaron's voice growls in my ear, and I tremble in fear as I hear the fury in his tone.

"I have to see," I hear myself yelling, "I have to know if it's him."

"If it's who, Lien?" he demands viciously and I wince at his lack of sympathy, needing someone to understand what I'm feeling and why I'm so desperate to see what stands hidden in that shadow. He shakes me brutally by the shoulders and the breath whooshes out of my lungs as he slams me against the floor. "If it's who?"

"Don't," I whisper frantically, trying once more to shake him off me, but of course I'm completely unable to shift his weight. "All I want to do is see him again." I twist urgently, and start screaming when he doesn't move. "Get off me," I shriek furiously, my voice ripping out of my throat as I arch my back to throw him off.

I feel his hand move to the back of my head and I shriek louder as he mutters in my ear, "this is for your own good."

The last thing I remember is my face colliding with the leaf strewn floor and pain erupting suddenly within my forehead. Then everything goes black and Trevor's voice disappears from my mind.

* * *

**Answer: **Helplessness Blue, Fleet Foxes.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _And it starts, sometime around midnight,_ o_r at least that's when you lose yourself, for a minute or two._


	31. Madness

_Day Four_

**Kye Willows, District 8.**

As hard as I try, I can't seem to concentrate on anything except the pain in my legs – the pain of the bruises that lances through me each time I adjust my position even the slightest bit. The only thing that blocks out the pain is Amy, and so her face is the only thing that I can see anymore. I don't want the others to know how weak I'm getting, because they'd only see me as an obstacle, something to be removed before I hinder them any further. And I made a promise to Amy that I would come home to her, and I haven't given up on that yet, even though it would be so easy to do just that.

Lien and Aaron are having yet another argument at the other side of the camp while I keep my hands pressed against my eyes, and think of the good times with Amy; the times of happiness and laughter. I'm worried these memories might start to evaporate from my mind the longer that I have to stay in this poisonous environment.

"I don't care – you could have killed me. And now my face is covered in bruises, so I hope you're happy," Lien's shrieks burst through the bubble that I'm trying desperately to build up around myself.

"What was I supposed to do?" Aaron yells back at her, and I risk raising my head to find his expression twisted with fury and his arms gesturing wildly in the air, "you were going to walk into the shadows. I could tell by your face."

"So? It was my decision. I can do whatever I want."

"Fighting doesn't help anything," I murmur absently, repeating a phrase that Amy had always used to say whenever I had shouted at her. _Fighting doesn't help anything, Kye, _she told me time and time again, _in fact, shockingly, it tends to make things a whole lot worse. _I can still see the way she used to roll her eyes at me whenever she had reminded me of that, and the way that I had just laughed in response, my anger disappearing instantly at her words.

My words don't go down very well Lien though, who spins around to face me with a fiery expression. I find it interesting that she played up to the innocent little girl act during training and interviews, yet the moment she stepped into the arena she became a completely different person. I wonder if she was hiding her true self before, or whether the arena has broken her. I'm starting to suspect that it has broken me too, because I keep seeing Amy's face everywhere I look; in the shadows of the forest, in the arrangement of the scraggly bush that is growing near the Cornucopia and in Lien's hair, which is the exact same colour as Amy's.

I shake my head, trying desperately to distract myself from the thoughts of her. "Kye?" Lien suddenly shrieks at me, so loudly that I'm forced to cover my ears and I start to my feet in fright, certain that something must be behind me. Agony burns across my skin at the fast movement of my limbs, and I growl in pain, directing this anger towards Lien as I realise there was nothing behind me, and she's made me stand up for no reason at all.

"What?" I snap at her, wanting to sit back down again, but not prepared to deal with that burst of pain that will come when I will inevitably have to stand back up.

"I asked you three times if you had all your stuff ready to go hunting today?" Lien retorts, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

I hate the use of the word _hunting, _as though the other tributes are just wild animals or something – things that we can just mindlessly slaughter without giving a second thought to our actions.

"We're finding Sasha today," Aaron mutters determinedly as he hauls a rucksack onto his shoulders, anger etched onto his face, "and this time, I will kill her." I can't make myself move to join him though, although I know I still need to prepare my pack and find my weapons. It's strange how quickly pain can wear you down – when I entered this arena, I had told myself to quell any reservations that I had about having to kill people, and simply concentrate on getting home. I had been full to the brim with determination that it didn't matter how many tributes I had to kill, but that I was going to make it back to her. But now? _Now _that I have experienced the truth of the Games I'm just not sure what I'm doing anymore.

It doesn't help that my injuries are preventing me from thinking clearly for even a single moment.

"KYE!" Lien's voice burns against my ears and I twist my head around so that I can look her in the eyes.

"What Lien?" I snap, my patience finally reaching breaking point as I fling my arms into the air and try to ignore the pain that flames in my shoulders. "I hear you," I grumble, "and I'm doing it."

"You're not doing anything," she yells back at me, "you're just standing there, looking like an imbecile. I cannot believe that I actually thought you might turn out to be useful in here."

"I'm more useful than you," I point out as I bend down to snag my rucksack from the floor and begin tossing whatever food and drink I can get my hands on into it, "yesterday – in that fight – you might as well have not been there at all. And yet there I was, putting _my _neck on the line in order to rescue _you._" I yell the words at her in my anger.

"Just pack your bag," she snaps in response, before spinning on her heel and whirling back to towards the Cornucopia. She disappears around the other side, and the atmosphere lightens considerably the moment that she leaves. I grab my sword and the metal baton that I had used in my fight yesterday and shove the sword into my belt, leaving my hands free to grip the baton tightly.

"We _have _to find them today," Aaron says as we set off without saying anything to Lien to let her know that we're going.

* * *

As we move deeper into the woods, my ribs start to ache even more and I stumble over roots and bushes several times as dark spots swim in front of my vision at the bursts of pain that lance through my body. I'm so out of breath that there are several points where I'm convinced that I'm going to be sick, but nothing ever happens so I just keep on putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that no one comes at me from behind.

Just ahead of me, Aaron suddenly comes to a stop, "Did you hear that?" His head is flickering rapidly around; trying to look into the trees. I nod vaguely, not really sure what noise he actually means. I've been hearing scuffles and trembles all day while we've been walking in the woods. I just thought that it was the sound of nature. "There's definitely something there," he insists and I'm forced to come to a standstill behind him. Not that I particularly mind – I could do with the rest. "There's a stream, or something." Aaron points between two trees and I strain my ears, trying to hear what he can hear.

There's something gurgling in the distance, but it's just a stream, not a tribute. My brain is too muddled to work out why a stream might be something that Aaron is interested in. Sponsors had sent us enough water after what had happened at the lake, so it wasn't as though we were going to be dying of thirst anytime soon. I shrug and start to walk onwards again, but before I've even managed to take two steps, Aaron grabs my arm in a vice like grasp and holds me where I stand.

"Don't you think a stream would be exactly the kind of place other tributes might gather?" he hisses at me, and it's clear in his expression that he thinks I'm an idiot – a waste of space. Perhaps I would think that too – but it's hard for me to think clearly at all when memories of Amy keep washing through my mind. She won't let me focus on anything but her – just the way it had been back home. I just shrug in response. "We're checking it out," Aaron announces and begins walking in that direction without even a glance back at me. I try to mimic the way that he's moving his feet and the way he evaluates each step before he takes it so he doesn't make any noise. I don't think it works very well though because he keeps sending me furious glances as we crouch behind trees and close in on the stream.

The thing is though, no matter how hard I try, I just can't find it within myself to concentrate on any of this anymore. My whole body _hurts_ and I'm fed up of constantly having to look over my shoulder and be on my guard all the time.

We reach the stream and I imagine how luxurious it would be to bathe my aching limbs in the softly gurgling water, and perhaps find some peace for the first time in days but Aaron keeps us moving and there is no time to stop for a moment and appreciate a small corner of beauty. In District 8 there had been nothing natural, nothing that I could describe as beautiful in the world around me. Everything was tall concrete buildings and straight grey roads.

"Down," Aaron suddenly hisses and I start violently, throwing myself to the ground with a groan as pain hits me once more. I wish there was something that I could do to make me completely numb.

Now that I actually force myself to notice the world around me, I understand why Aaron forced me to get down. There's someone moving around in the trees on the other side of the stream. In fact, judging from the sounds, there's more than one person over there. I can hear branches snapping and even the occasional whisper. As we sit there waiting for whoever it is to emerge the voices get louder and louder, until I'm convinced that an argument has broken out between these other tributes.

I don't know how I'm supposed to feel now that we have actually located someone else – Aaron will expect me to fight them, and so I guess I'll have to. But there's just something that-

"I told you, they'll be back at the Cornucopia by now. No one followed us, did they?" a girl's voice suddenly erupts out of the trees and Aaron's muscles visibly tighten.

"I just don't think it was a great idea to come back here," a calm voice breaks through the anger of the other girl, who I'm starting to suspect is Sasha, based on Aaron's reaction, "if they followed us then they know about the stream. And it's about the only advantage we have."

"Where else should we have gone then?" the first voice demands, growing, if it's possible, even louder. "I don't want to just wander around in the forest. It won't get us anywhere."

Aaron beckons to me, and I can tell than my suspicions were right – Sasha and her allies are making their way towards us, completely oblivious to the fact that we are crouched down in these trees.

We wait as the snapping of branches and the rustling of leaves grows louder, and finally the three girls emerge into the light at the edge of the stream. Sasha still holds her arm at an odd angle after where I had struck her yesterday and I feel a strange pang of guilt even though I shouldn't. I should be glad that she was weakened by my actions because then I'm another step closer to home. But there's something about her that makes me feel confused; the way that her dark hair catches the light and her mouth curls when she gets angry. As much as I try to dispel the similarities, they wash over me each time I lay eyes on her.

Aaron waits until the three of them have bent down at the stream to drink before sliding a knife out of his belt. He wanted to bring his spears, but Lien convinced him that there wouldn't be enough room in the forest for them. But he clearly isn't as good with throwing knives as with spears, because the one he throws whizzes out, narrowly misses Sasha and sticks straight into a tree.

The girls are instantly in panic mode; Sasha's eyes flicker wildly around, trying to locate the source of the knife and my heart beats frantically in my chest as I imagine how it would feel if she actually was Amy. The other two draw their weapons, and I realise that Sasha has nothing to defend herself with. I dig my fingernails down into my palm, clenching hard enough to draw blood as my mind reels in confusion. I can't keep a hold on my thoughts – they pass fleetingly through my mind, leaving me unable to grab onto one or the other. Nothing around me is making sense anymore and this _damn _pain is making everything so much more difficult.

I'm vaguely aware of Aaron saying something beside me, but before I've even had a chance to process his words he leaves the trees and sprints across to where the three girls stand. My vision starts to blur and my hands are shaking as I hear the clang of metal against metal; a sound that heard in my nightmares last night as I realised what kind of person I was becoming. I don't want to be that person who can mindlessly kill others. There's shouting and anger from the stream, and all I want to do is press my hands against my ears and block the world out.

I lurch upright, the world spinning disconcertingly around me, and try to take a step forwards. My feet can't seem to walk in a straight line and they stumble over things that aren't really there at all. But as I burst out of the trees and see Aaron with Sasha pinned up against the tree, something stirs inside me and I start to run, ignoring the movement of the earth beneath my feet. Because all I can see is Amy up against that tree. I can see Aaron choking the life out of her – the dark hair and the pale skin bring millions of memories flooding through my mind, and I can think is that I can't let her die. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind is the thought that if she dies, then so will Amy, and even though it doesn't quite make sense to me, even as I sprint towards them, I don't want to let him kill her. Amy and Sasha are connected, somehow, and he won't take their life. He won't take Amy's life from me.

I barrel into his shoulder, knocking him off her and sending us both sprawling towards the ground. I land beside him, twigs digging into the palms of my hands as I try to push myself back up. I have to check that I saved her. I raise my head and find her staring at me – if I blur my vision then she is Amy. I whisper her name – she's the only thing I want right now. The only person who could wipe all of this pain away.

She doesn't react and I don't understand – doesn't she love me anymore?

Aaron stirs next to me but I can't tear my eyes away from her. I want to stand up, and go to her. "Amy?" I repeat, the name burning my throat as she still doesn't meet my eyes. Even as I watch, in the strange world where time seems to be moving too slowly and the earth shifts underneath me, she gathers her allies and they run from the clearing.

The moment they disappear the spell is broken, and everything comes crashing back down onto me. Something grabs my shoulder and I find myself pushed back against the tree. I try weakly to escape from the grasp on my jacket, but even as I kick out and my feet connect with something hard, I know that he's so much stronger than I am. "What are you doing?" his voice growls in my ear, but I don't answer.

How can I when I don't even know myself? Something had _snapped_ inside me, and for a moment I had seen Amy in Sasha's place. All I know is that I couldn't have stood there and let him kill her, not when she looks so like her. So similar in fact that there's still a small part of me that's convinced that it is her.

Aaron shakes me, banging me brutally against the tree trunk and I wince as my t-shirt rides up and the bark scrapes against my bare skin. "You made me lose her, _again." _He shakes me once more and I duck my head, not wanting to see his furious eyes anymore. I just want to imagine a pair of soft blue ones that always made me feel safe. "I thought we were allies?"

"I couldn't let you kill her," I whisper weakly, not knowing how else to respond. I know that there's no way to make him understand my actions when I don't understand them myself.

"You made a big mistake," he hisses and I watch as his hand moves down towards his belt, "you've been useless ever since you let that squid get you. But now, you're a danger to me. So anything I do, it's justified."

"I was supposed to get home to her," I hear myself saying dully.

"You should have thought about that before your little stunt," Aaron replies, his grip tightening and his nails digging into my skin. I know that this should be hurting me, but my skin doesn't seem to be feeling anything anymore. Not the bark scraping against me, not the bruises that coat my skin and not the harsh grasp of his fingers.

Something cold and metal presses suddenly into my neck while something warm trickles down the side of my neck. I want to raise my hand to touch it, but my limbs seem to weigh far more than they normally do. Perhaps I don't really want to see or feel it anyway – all I really want to see is her face. Not her face as it must be now as she watches me on the screen, but her face smiling. If I close my eyes then I can even imagine the ring of her laughter, pure and clear – the way it used to fill up the house and wrap itself around me.

Maybe I should have tried harder to make it back for her, but I never want her to see me like this. This strange, diluted version of the person I once was.

The pressure on my neck increases, and this time I feel the pain. An involuntary moan slides from between my lips and my whole body tightens slightly. But it doesn't last very long, and blackness overwhelms my vision, numbing the pain once more.

Somewhere in the distance a cannon booms, and then all I can hear is her gentle laughter.

**Misha Rolansky, District 10.**

I've spent a whole day hidden in these bushes, the leaves and branches craping against my skin whenever I shift my body but every time I try to leave something stops me. It's a feeling – something bad will happen to me if I leave the safety of these plants.

My mind still feels confused, distorted, as I am unable to work how I could possibly have ended up in this place, with the castle nowhere in sight.

Everything had gone black – an endless sea of darkness that had swallowed me up and made me forget who I really was. And then when I had finally managed to open my eyes I was in the middle of the forest, dark trees and spindly shadows surrounding me, and nothing makes sense anymore.

Sometimes, I black out for a few moments, and when I wake up I've done something that I don't even remember doing. Destroyed something – ripped something up, or smashed things against the walls of a room. But nothing like this – never before have I woken up and found myself somewhere completely different. I wouldn't even have been convinced that I was still in the Hunger Games if I hadn't heard the cannons yesterday. Then seen the faces in the sky.

My fist clenches involuntarily as I picture Yari's face above me – I had wanted to be the one to find that little creep and drain him of his blood. My pulse throbs in my throat as I imagine sliding the blade of my knife across his throat and watching the blood spurting from the wound. I would find out who had killed him, and I would kill them instead. The insane bloodlust pumps through my veins and all my muscles tighten in suspense.

I shake my head as I realise what I'm doing – I have to be able to control this. A shudder passes through me as I think of what that _ghost_ in the shadows had shown me. This new version of myself. Blood staining his face. Staining _my_ face.

My hand moves to the wound on the inside of my arm and I scrape my fingernails against it once more. I have a theory that if I can completely erase the spot from my skin, then I can erase the memory of that night from my mind. Somehow this mark and _him _are connected. I scratch rapidly at the surface of my skin, cutting my fingernails deep into my skin, and hissing as a droplet of blood wells to the surface. I've long since obliterated the mark now, but yet I can't stop myself from scratching at the wound.

Dried blood clings to the insides of my fingernails, turning them black, but I don't care. I can barely even see them anyway – not when the mark still taints my skin.

I force myself to snatch my hand away from my arm – I can't afford to make myself weak; I have to get home to Lena. As much as I try to tell myself this though, my fingertips keep jerking back to the mark and I have to clench my fist to stop myself from scratching. The skin feels raw, and tingly, and I can't take my eyes off it.

I crouch in the bushes for several moments, my whole body tensed up, before I realise that it's futile. I need to distract myself from this somehow. I need...

I need to find another tribute, and I need to take my knife and run it across –

No. I stop this train of thought. No, I will _not _envisage killing anyone. Haven't I lost enough of my humanity anyway?

_If you ever really had any to begin with._

I screw up my eyes and stumble out of the undergrowth, banging straight into a tree that I didn't see. I shake my head desperately and tug my hands brutally through my hair, using the pain to keep the voice at bay.

_You're pathetic._

"No," I choke out, the words spilling over my lips before I can gain control of myself, "I'm not. I-" My knees give way beneath me and I slump to the floor, landing with a jarring thud against the muddy forest floor. My hand flies back to my arm and my nails scratch against the skin, drawing more blood. "NO," I roar, snatching my hands away and digging them into the mud to stop them from touching my arm.

I don't understand why I can't control my limbs – everything is going so wrong. My head aches fiercely, and the mud burns the gash. My shoulder still throbs whenever I move. My body has never hurt like this before, and yet there's nothing I can do to stop it.

My stomach feels hollow as well – though I still have my bow, arrows and knife with me, my food must still be lying on the floor of the tower. It's nothing that I can't handle – I've been permanently hungry ever since the end of the rebellion, and everyone had left me.

I drop my head against my knees as a fresh wave of pain washes over me and I remember my mother's expression when I had encountered in that hall. I had avoided her since then – what was I supposed to tell her, that I was so useless that they had taken Lena away from me? That I had destroyed our house to obliterate their memories?

Everything had fallen apart after dad had died and I had felt my temper spiralling out of control in a way it never had before. No one wanted to see me anymore – my friends were either dead, or I had scared them off. No one ever wanted to me near me, not since I had raved and ranted at them. Not since they had seen me for the person that I truly was.

And who am I now? Someone who can kill people without caring? Someone who can enjoy the feeling of blood pouring from a wound and the expression of terror on the face of another human being?

But even as these thoughts wash over me, and bile rises in my throat as I remember the image of myself that _he _had shown me, I feel no remorse for the things that I have done. Surely that makes me something disgusting? A _creature_ that has no right to make it home to his sister.

_You couldn't look after her anyway._

Anger surges within me, and I finally find the strength to raise my hand and tug my hands free from the mud. "I can look after her," I mutter furiously and the confusion overwhelms me once more; the feeling that everything has been turned upside down and my thoughts aren't making any sense.

I push myself upright, lurching forward slightly as I do so but I manage to keep myself standing. My legs feel stiff and barely able to hold up my weight because I've been crouched down for so long.

_You really are useless._

I grit my teeth to prevent the flood of angry words from erupting from my mouth – shouting at this voice doesn't make it cease, I should have learned that by now. I just have to do something that will prove it wrong. I don't want to be called pathetic, or useless anymore. Not by anyone – I want to use this arena to prove myself. I just have to work out a way in which to do that.

Is killing alright as long as I don't enjoy it?

* * *

My meandering steps take me nowhere fast, but it's not as if I have any place to get to anyway. This forest could stretch on for miles and miles – perhaps I'll never find the end of it. I don't mind though, it reminds me of the woods back at home. The soft dappled light reflected on the leafy floor and the occasional scuttle of wildlife around me.

If I come across anything edible then I'll use my bow to take it down – it's nothing I haven't done before. It's strange really, that the action is so similar, and yet the implications so different from killing a human being. If we really stopped to think about it, shouldn't murdering an animal be just as despicable as killing a human? But we need to kill animals to survive just the same as, in here, I need to kill other people to survive. Somewhere inside me, that confused, rambling sentence makes sense and I grip my knife tightly.

Half of me wants to come across another tribute, and half of me wants to just wander around in the forests and wait until everyone else kills each other. It would be so easy just to do the second one. In fact, I wonder why everyone isn't doing that. Surely if we all just refused to kill on another, then there would be nothing the Capitol could do about it.

I shake my head to clear my mind – I need to focus on what I'm doing, something that I've been completely unable to do for these past few days. Ever since I killed Chall it's been even worse. I think there was something more personal about the way in which I had done it which makes it impossible for me to forget her death. I can still remember the feeling of my knife against her skin – the way it was so easy to make the blood gush from her neck. We shouldn't be that easy to destroy – one quick slash and someone's life is over.

I walk deeper into the forest, losing myself amongst the trees and revelling for a moment in the utter silence that lies all around me. If I take careful steps, then I can even avoid stepping on twigs or dried leaves and everything seems peaceful. Just for a moment.

_Why are you just walking around, when you should be hunting down other tributes? Have you given up already?_

I try to ignore it – this isn't me giving up, I just need to take a break from everything in this arena. I need a chance to think about the things that I have done. I _will _make it back to Lena, and no one will ever be able to take her away from me again. But I don't want to return to her a monster, even though I have the feeling that everyone back home will see me in this way anyway.

Home?

I clamp my teeth down onto my lower lip, tensing slightly at the pain. I wish I could keep control of my thoughts and stop the memories from washing over me. But no matter which way I turn, it's as though I can imagine Lena darting through the trees, a wide smile on her pudgy little face and I think back to all the times that we were happy in our house.

I hear a rustle in the bushes just to my left, but I shake my head in response to the fear that surges through me. It must just be my imagination, playing tricks on me once more and trying to convince me that Lena really is somewhere amongst the trees.

My hand tightens on the handle of my knife though and I can't stop my eyes from flickering around wildly.

Just as I've managed to calm myself down, and convince myself that there is nothing anywhere near me, I hear something scuttle out of the trees behind me.

I start violently, yanking my knife out of my belt and spinning round. My jaw drops open in horror as I take in the creature scurrying across the floor towards me. It's a huge, scaled thing with six legs, each sporting a ferocious looking set of claws that tap against the floor as it moves closer. I start backing away, knocking into a tree as I take in the sight of its thick grey shell, encrusted with what look like red and yellow jewels.

The fear stops my body from working and I can't move from the tree. Suddenly a blasting noise fills the clearing as the creature shoots a stream of fire from its back end. The fire crackles against the trees behind it, blackening them instantly and causing flames to catch on the dry leaves of the forest floor.

I pull my bow from my shoulder, and knock an arrow. I tighten the string, and then send the arrow flying towards it. It collides with its shell with a heavy thud, but then bounces back off it, lying uselessly in the grass by its side.

I release a yelp as the thing spins around, snapping its claws in my direction and sends a stream of fire towards me. I throw myself out of the way, landing on the floor and knocking all of the air out of my lungs. It keeps coming towards me, and I swear in desperation, slashing my knife towards it as it closes the gap between us.

One of its front claws tries to grab at my knife, and I snatch it back before curving it around and trying to hack at the soft flesh beneath its shell. It emits a high pitched squeal that makes me want to press my hands against my ears as my knife strikes it. It barely scratches the surface of its skin though and I scramble back to my feet, realising that if I can't fight it, then I'm going to have to run from it instead.

It doesn't like this though and I growl in fury as one of its claws clamps tightly around my ankle, cutting through the material of my trousers and piercing my skin. I yell, and kick out, trying to throw the thing off me.

I keep thrashing my leg and eventually the creature flies off me, knocking into a tree trunk and landing upside down, its legs flailing insanely in the air. I realise that it's stuck on its back, and this gives me time to get away from it.

Just as I start to gather my thoughts in order to run away it sends another blast of fire in my direction, the flames licking against my foot and I let out another yelp as the pain burns up the side of my leg. I hiss in anger, clenching my teeth in order to keep the pain at bay, but my vision swims worryingly before my eyes and I struggle to keep myself upright. I hate being made a fool of like this – I bet everyone watching is having a good laugh at me taking a beating from this ridiculous looking animal.

I jump to the side just as fire roars once more through the trees and I circle around it, narrowing my eyes in fury as I close in on it, keeping my knife held out in front of me. It's still thrashing around crazily and I stop for a moment to avoid getting slashed once more by its pincers.

I just stand there, frozen, clutching my knife tightly in my palm and watching the thing as it wriggles and squeals in its need to flip back over. I understand what it's like to feel completely overturned like that, and to lose control over everything around you.

_Idiot._

For once I have to agree with the voice – I can't stand around feeling sympathy for some creepy animal that the Gamemakers have forced upon me. I jerk forward and drive the knife deep into the flesh of its belly, listening with vindictive pleasure as it cries out. I draw the knife out, and stab it back down again. And again.

I keep plunging the blade into it until the creature falls completely still. Even then I keep going, my fury with the wounds that it had given me growing every time I pull the knife back out again. Black blood splatters onto my face, and onto my clothes, but I'm beyond caring what I look like. I'm going to teach this thing that I won't be made a fool of, and then I'm going to go and find the other tributes, and teach them the same thing.

* * *

I am sorry about how long it has taken me to get this chapter out. I've been pretty stressed out with work, and I found it really hard to write in Kye's POV. And just as a warning, updates are probably going to be quite irregular from now on because I'm getting close to exam season... :( But thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story so far.

**Answer: **Sometime Around Midnight, The Airborne Toxic Event

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow, and I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, these dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had._


	32. A Respite

_Day Four_

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

My arm still hurts like blazes, and a headache is beginning to pound at my temples as I let my mind run back over what had happened this morning. I just keep remembering the expression on Kye's face when he had called me by that other name, and guilt surges through me as I think of how I had reacted.

_What if the cannon was his? _I wouldn't exactly put it past Aaron to have killed him, and-

I shake my head, trying to distract me from these thoughts. "Flint?" I demand, causing her head to snap in my direction as she tears her eyes away from the sky. "Teach me how to throw that knife." I'm already rising to my feet as I speak, expecting her to do exactly as I say.

"Look," she says, not moving from her position lying down on the mucky forest floor. I wrinkle my nose as I see the muddy stains on the side of her jacket, and then roll my eyes as she raises a hand to point upwards, "if I squint, then that cloud there looks exactly like a dandelion." I huff impatiently, and fold my arms tightly across my chest. I don't like to be kept waiting – everyone usually does exactly as I say; it's strange that my power is starting to wane in this place.

"Flint," I snap again, and I have to restrain myself from stomping my foot against the floor, because I don't want to look like a stroppy little kid. Kelby just flashes me a warning look, and crosses over to lie down beside Flint.

"I see what you mean," she says gently, and I wonder how she has the patient to mother Flint all the time like that. The girl makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall, and Kelby isn't really all that much better. But I know that I couldn't cope at all if I was by myself – and I don't just mean that I wouldn't be able to take Aaron down alone, but... Having other people around is keeping me from losing my mind in here. If for no other reason than they help to fend off the boredom at times like this.

"You can see anything you want in the clouds if you try hard enough," I grumble, when it becomes apparent that the two of them are choosing to completely ignore me and having a stupid discussion about shapes that they can see in the clouds. "Look Flint," I say, gesturing towards a fluffy blob above my head, "that one could be you. If you stand on your head and close your left eye."

"Really?" she jumps up with excitement, and looks towards the cloud that I'm pointing at.

"No, genius," I mutter, "of course it's not-" I'm cut off as Flint suddenly crouches down with her palms flat on the floor. "What are you doing?" She pushes herself up so that the top of her head is resting against the ground and then pushes her body upright, kicking her legs out as she does so. There's a moment where she stays there, suspended by her arms for a moment. But then her whole body does a strange little wobble, and she collapses back down to the floor, landing on her head with a brutal crash that makes me wince.

"Did you really think that was a good idea?" I manage to ask before a splutter of laughter rises out of my throat.

"Sasha!" Kelby admonishes, crossing over and kneeling down beside Flint, "are you alright?" she asks, reaching out a hand in concern, only to have it knocked back again by Flint.

"No, I didn't even have time to see the cloud. I was shaking too much," she says grumpily – about the first time I haven't seen her with that goofy smile pasted across her face.

"You don't say," I mutter, rolling my eyes at her once more.

"You shouldn't do things like that," Kelby says softly, "you might hurt yourself. And I think we've got enough injuries between us already." She looks over at me with a worried expression on her face, that makes me clench my jaw and turn away from her. I'm not supposed to be getting close to these two – I only allied with them for convenience sake, and once we've worked out a plan to kill Aaron, and he's dead, then I have to be able to leave them without a backwards glance. Or possibly even kill them.

My whole body protests at this idea enters my mind, and the idea of killing either of them fills me with revulsion. Hopefully someone else will kill them first, so that I won't have to.

"Penny for them," Kelby says from her position next to Flint, and I look at her in surprise. She's far too good at reading other people, which makes it so much harder to pretend, and hide my feelings away as I always do.

I simply cross over, and lie down next Flint, who has stretched herself back out with her eyes trained on the clouds. I could almost convince myself that we aren't really in the Hunger Games, and this is just a camping trip, if it wasn't for the makeshift sling wrapped around my arm and the bruises and scratches that cover all three of us. And the fact that I would never voluntarily go on a camping trip – the only kind of nature I like is the ocean, because it's _clean_.

Flint sighs almost lazily, and stretches her arms out, "did you really see my face in the clouds, Sasha?" she asks suddenly, turning over onto her side to face me. Her blue eyes boring into me, and I clamp my own tightly shut to try and hide the fact that I feel guilty

I know that I _shouldn't _– it's not as though she got properly hurt, or anything like that, but there's something in her childish tone that makes me feel bad for what I had done. She jabs me in the shoulder, and I shake my head tightly. "No, sorry," I mutter, biting my lip as I speak. I just wanted to tease her, just as I do with my friends back home, but it's not the same because she takes everything so literally.

"You shouldn't lie like that," Kelby says, "but you did look pretty funny standing on your head Flint," she says, and I open my eyes to look up at her in surprise. She grins down at me, "but I think Flint should get the chance to get her own back. What do you want Sasha to do?"

I raise my eyebrows at her, and fold my arms across my chest, "yeah, good luck with that," I tell her, letting out a deep breath to show her that I'm not planning on moving any time soon.

"Stand on your head," Flint says eagerly from beside me.

I just laugh at this, "in case you haven't noticed, my wrist isn't really working right now. I don't think I could do a handstand with just one good arm." Not that I would be doing something like that anyway – we're on television in front of the whole of Panem, and I don't like being made a fool of at the best of times.

"Hmm," Flint says thoughtfully, and I jerk my eyelids open to find her stroking her chin in mock thought. I laugh at her, and sit upright, poking her in the shoulder just as she had done to me.

"If you don't decide in five seconds, then you lose your opportunity," I tell her with a grin, "and then you have to teach me how to throw knives." From beside me Kelby hums something under her breath, and I look at her incredulously as I realise what it is. It's the song we were singing yesterday – the one that had basically gotten me this stupid injury. I narrow my eyes, and she cuts off the humming quickly.

"I want you to dance," Flint suddenly announces and I find myself shaking my head – there's no way in hell I'm going to start dancing around like an idiot in front of all of these cameras.

"Sorry, your time was up about a minute ago. Too late," I point out, starting to lie back down again. But Flint just jumps to her feet, grabs my good arm and starts trying to tug me to my feet. "That's not going to work," I mutter, "I'm a lot bigger, and stronger than you are."

Kelby stands up, and takes my other shoulder, gingerly so as not to hurt my wrist and starts trying to heave me upright. "You did the crime, now you have to do the time."

Laughter bursts out of my throat at her odd little rhyme and then I wonder why I'm even bothering to refuse. No matter which way you look at it, the odds of me actually getting out of here are pretty damn slim, so I might as well have a bit of fun whilst I'm in here. I let them pull me upright, and Flint claps her hands together in excitement. "Now, you have to dance."

If I close my eyes I can think back to the parties my parents had taken me to when I was little, and before the rebellion had broken out. The tinkling piano music, and the beautiful dresses that flowed with me when I moved.

My mum had made me go to dancing lessons when I was younger, and so I hold my arms out now just as I remember doing back then, as I had twirled around in a hall filled with other little girls, all trying their hardest to look graceful, and beautiful.

While the rebellion had forced me to grow up, and move on from that idealism, I can still remember _how _to dance, even I don't remember why I enjoyed it so much.

For several moments I move just as I had moved then, my high held high and my feet taking dainty steps against the floor, but then Flint barges into me, knocking me out of my peaceful daydream, and dragging me back to reality. I glare at her, "what are you doing? You asked me to dance, so I'm dancing."

"But, that's not _real _dancing," Flint tells me, her eyes glazing over slightly. Presumably as she remembers an occasion where she has done 'real' dancing.

"What is then?" I demand irritably, annoyed at her for making me remember once more where I really am.

And then Kelby and I watch in astonishment as Flint begins waving her arms around over her hand, doing strange jerky movements with her body as she turns slowly around. I exchange a glance with Kelby who, like me, is clearly struggling to prevent herself from bursting into hysterics. Flint starts moving her fingers in strange rippling motions and stomping her feet as she sways.

I shake my head in confusion – I've never gotten on with people like this; people who act like they don't care what anyone else thinks of them. Everyone should care about what kind of image they give off to others – in school, I had to always been viewed as the queen-bee, head and shoulders above everyone else, otherwise I looked weak. My image was the only thing I really had. But Flint clearly doesn't give a damn about any of that – she dances like that just to make herself happy, not to try and impress anyone else the way I always had during my dance lessons.

"Flint, what are you doing?" Kelby asks with a smile.

"Dancing," Flint says absently, absorbed in her strange movements.

"I've never seen dancing like that before. At home we used to have dances sometimes, before the rebellion of course, where everyone would hold hands in circles, and skip. Everyone always knew all of the dances." I sigh at Kelby's rambling – _thanks a lot for setting her off, Flint._

"This is _my _dance," Flint replies dreamily, swaying to the beat of music that only she can hear. I wish I was able to switch myself off just like that. Life would be so much simpler if I could just block everything out, especially now.

"What dancing do they have in District 4?" Kelby says, turning towards me.

I shrug, and avoid her gaze. I don't want to think about home, because that inevitably leads to thoughts of my friends and my family, and I can't afford to be distracted by them at the moment.

"Come on," she insists, tugging at my arm, "you _must _have dancing in District 4."

I just shake my head, "not since the rebellion," I mutter, and plonk myself down onto the ground. I sort of want her to be sympathetic, and try to cheer me up, because I'm starting to feel as though Flint is claiming all of the attention in our group. But she doesn't – not that I'm expecting her to, because we all lived through the rebellion, saw things we'd rather forget, and we just have to accept that, I suppose.

But I grit my teeth as she goes over to Flint and starts to mimic her dancing. "What are you doing?" I ask tiredly. It's as though we're constantly having to keep Flint entertained.

"Dancing," Kelby says, smiling over at me as though she knows that I'm feeling ignored, and that I'm not used to it. "Come on Flint," she says brightly, "teach me how to do it."

"And Sasha," Flint decides, looking over at me, and Kelby nods.

"And Sasha. Come on, I will use force again if I have to."

"What's the point?" I mutter irritably; I just want night to arrive so that I can go to sleep. Although then we'll be surrounded by those strange whispers, and the wind that blasts through the camp with no explanation. Well, it's still preferable to sitting around here watching these two lose all dignity. If they even had any to begin with.

"It's fun," Flint says, "not as fun as watching the clouds, because you don't see any nice pictures when you dance. But it's still-"

"I have a permanent headache while I'm around you," I grumble, cutting her off midway through her rambling sentence.

"Maybe dancing will help?" Flint asks.

"Oh yes, I'm _sure _that dancing will take away my headache."

Kelby just sighs, looking at me pointedly, and then turns to Flint, "show me how to do it," she says softly, her eyes focused on Flint who begins teaching her the steps. I listen to Kelby exclaiming over what she's saying, and speaking to her in encouraging tones, and I clench my fists impatiently. How does she have the patience to behave like that around someone who is almost an adult? All I want to do to Flint is bash some sense into her, and tell her to stop behaving like an infant.

Eventually I can't stand it anymore, and I burst out, "Why are you so damn maternal?" I yell, gesturing at Kelby in annoyance.

She looks at me in surprise, "what do you mean?" she asks.

"You're always mothering her, _all_ the time, and I don't understand why," I say through clenched teeth.

Her face falls slightly, and her chin trembles. I look at her in surprise; I had expected her to yell back at me – wanted it actually, I find arguments can be pretty cathartic – but I certainly hadn't expected her to start crying.

I instantly feel guilty – something that I've had enough of today. She tries to cover it up, "I'm not maternal," she says, shaking her head and turning away from me.

"Why are you crying?" Flint pipes up, her voice full on confusion.

"I'm not," she answers, but I can hear the tears in her tone.

I watch for a moment as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket, but I've ruined the relaxed atmosphere from just moments ago, and I have to find out why.

I stand up, and walk over to her. I've never been very good at comforting other people, but I caused it, so I guess that it's up to me to fix it. "What's up?" I demand, my words coming out in completely the wrong way and Kelby's face falls even more.

"Nothing," she insists, but the tears keep trickling down her face, no matter how quickly she manages to wipe them away.

"You know," I find myself whispering, "I might be kind of a bitch, but I certainly didn't mean to make you cry. So, now you have to tell me why." The last bit didn't sound right – I'm so awful at this.

Flint's much better – she reaches out a hand and places it softly on Kelby's shoulder, who then covers it with her own hand. "I don't want to say."

"Why not?" Flint asks, leaning in closer as if this is some big secret that she's just desperate to be a part of.

"Because, it's embarrassing."

I watch her in confusion for a moment, "I'm sure it's not," I mutter, not knowing what else I'm supposed to say.

"Ok," she says through her tears, "I... I'm just going to say it, because," a sob catches in her throat, but she tries to swallow it back down, "I have a son," she finally says and I feel my mouth drop open as my brain processes what she's just said.

"A son?" I demand incredulously, before I've really had a chance to think through what I'm saying, "how can you have a son? You're fifteen?" I mean, even _I'm _not that much of a slut.

She drops her head, refusing to meet either of our eyes, "It wasn't exactly... it wasn't really my choice." If it's possible mouth hangs open even more widely.

Shit, that must mean that she was... A shudder runs through me as I consider the idea – it's so utterly revolting that it makes me want to wrap my arms around her. No one should have to go through something like that, especially not someone like her. Someone who seems so sweet, and innocent.

"I don't understand," Flint says quietly, and I grimace.

"She was-" I can't even bring myself to say the word – the idea of it is so despicable.

"Raped," Kelby mutters, a desperate sob finally erupting out of her as she speaks the word.

I'm at a loss at what to do – I certainly wasn't expecting her to come out with something like that. But a part of me feels strangely honoured that she trusts us enough to have told us that. I would be keeping something like a secret from everyone, even someone like Hayden, who I've known all my life.

I bite my lip, and grab her hand which isn't still placed on top of Flint's. "Tell us about your son," I murmur.

**Griffin Ashlock, District 9.**

"Come on," I say teasingly, waving the piece of paper in front of her eyes, "I thought you said you were smart."

Samura throws a nasty look in my direction, one that lets me know that I've pushed things too far. "You can't answer it either," she retorts grumpily.

"I'm just a simple hunter," I say with a smile, "you're the one from the fancy district."

She rolls her eyes at me, snatching the riddle from my finger tips, and staring at it with intense eyes for a moment.

I find myself watching her reading the piece of paper, without really realising what I'm doing, and suddenly she jerks her head upright to find my eyes trained on her. I immediately duck my gaze, feeling ashamed to have been caught out like that.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"Just wondering how long we're going to have to sit out here," I reply with a grin.

I had assumed that once we'd entered the castle, we might be free to explore, enter some rooms, find somewhere that might be able to give us a little bit of security. But the Gamemakers decided that would be _far _too easy.

If the moving staircases didn't make it confusing enough, every single door we've come across has had a painting stuck to it, and a rolled up piece of paper shoved into the handle. After trying every single door handle to no avail, and trying to work out the purpose of the strange metal grill next to the door, it became fairly clear what we had to do.

On each piece of paper was a riddle, and as far as we can work out, to enter a room, we have to work out the answer to the riddle, and say it into the speakers. Or at least, that's what Samura told me the grill-thing is.

We've become transfixed on this door, because the painting on it is one of a table covered in delicious looking dishes, and we're both hungry. The packets of dried food just aren't filling the hole. But maybe we should just cut our losses and move on, because neither of us can fathom what the answer might be. I feel exposed just sitting around in this hallway, especially since the voices that came again last night and besides, there's no guarantee that the room even contains food.

I glance sideways at Samura whose attention is focused once more on the riddle, and I remember how she had finally accepted my comfort last night as the voice had whispered her name once more. She couldn't even meet my eyes this morning when she woke up with her arms still wrapped around me.

I know that she doesn't want me to see her as being weak, but I don't think she is at all. She's possibly the bravest person that I've ever been lucky enough to meet.

"Give it here," I say finally, when she huffs in annoyance and starts scrunching up the edges of the paper. She holds it out to me, and my hand brushes against hers for the briefest instant as I take the paper. She starts, and yanks her hand back, glaring at me as she does.

_I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean and yet remain dry. _

_What am I?_

"I don't know anything about the ocean," she mutters, once again refusing to meet my eyes. It's so frustrating that last night she was so comfortable around me that she let me wrap my arms around her, and whisper soothing words in her ear as she tried to fend off the bad memories of her mother, but now she won't even let her hand graze against mine.

"There must be a logical answer," I say, trying to distract myself for thinking like that. I shouldn't let a _girl _cause me to lose my head – Moira must have been laughing scathingly at me when she saw us last night. I don't normally act like this around girls, but there's something special about this one.

It's no wonder that I can't answer this stupid riddle, when my thoughts keep revolving constantly around Samura. If Moira were here she'd give me a good slap, and tell me to get a hold of myself. Maybe I could ask Samura to hit me, and see if that brings me to my senses. Just as I'm seriously considering asking her, her head jerks up and she snatches the piece of paper back off me before I've had the chance to even think about what the answer could be.

She looks up at me, excitement shining in her eyes – my stomach clenches tightly as I look at her expression. _If only she would look like that just because of me._

Then, I'm horrified at myself. _Did I seriously just think that? _I _really _need to get myself together.

"Swim in the ocean, and yet remain dry," she whispers under her breath, unaware of the shame inducing thoughts that have just passed through my mind. She glances up at me, "do you think it could be a shadow?" she asks, barely able to control the enthusiasm in her tone.

It could be a shadow, but then again, in my mind it could just as easily be a pencil, or fire. I don't really have the ability to think logically – this riddle stuff eludes me completely. But I nod rapidly in response to her words, "that fits," I reply, matching her excited tone.

We both stand up and cross over to the speaky, or speaker – whatever it was called. Samura glances up at me, and I gesture towards it. "You do it, you're the one who worked it out." And I have absolutely no idea what you're supposed to do with that thing.

She leans closer towards it, and I try to keep my attention focused on the door, rather than on her face, because then it's easier to keep alert, and who knows what might be behind this door. Perhaps all the other tributes have already gathered in here, and are just waiting for us to figure out the answer so that they can kill us. Unlikely, sure – but nothing in this arena makes much sense.

"Shadow," she whispers, and there's a moment where nothing happens. She screws up her face in disappointment, and scrunches the riddle up, throwing it to the ground impatiently. "I said ages ago that we should just try a different one. This clue doesn't even make any sense, and-" she's cut off as a clunking sound reverberates through the door.

I tense my muscles and drop my hands to the knife at my belt – it's just like the noise we had heard just before that grotesque dog had appeared. Samura's hands grip the handle of her mace tightly, and we both stand there as the door finally slides open.

We step across the threshold, and I'm unable to stop my mouth from watering as I take in the sight of the cake sitting on the table in the middle of the room, covered in thick chocolate icing, and decorated with the message, "May the odds be ever in your favour."

As I continue to scan round the room, I take in the selection of cushy sleeping bags piled in the corner of the room, and several sacks of food. Including one filled to the brim with apples, and another one of oranges. If anything, these make me drool more than the cake.

Suddenly Samura emits a very un-Samura-like squeal, and launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me tightly. "We did it," she yelps excitedly, and I let myself wrap my own arms around her shoulders, knowing it probably won't be very long before she comes to her senses and lets me go.

Sure enough, she drops her arms almost as soon as I try to hug her back, and she takes a step away from me, watching me awkwardly. "_You _did it," I tell her softly, and she grins at me.

"Well, that is true." I watch her, wondering why she had decided to hug me like that. It doesn't really help when I'm trying to _stop _myself from constantly thinking about her.

She crosses the room, snatching the rolled up paper from outside and slams the door shut so that it clicks. We both let out a sigh of relief as it does – it feels so much safer now that I know no one can get in here. We're safe – at least for a little while.

"We should burn this, or something," Samura says, holding out the piece of paper in front of her, and I nod.

"Lighting a fire sounds like a good idea anyway; it's cold in here."

She watches me for a moment, and then quickly pulls her eyes away and begins searching the room.

"What are you doing?" I ask, after she starts digging through the pile of sleeping bags in the corner.

"Looking for something we can use to build a fire with," she snaps in response, her good mood completely evaporated, "you know, twigs, or paper – or something."

"I don't think there's anything here," I mutter, causing her to roll her eyes at me. I've lost count of the amount of times she has done this since I met her.

"_Well done," _she mutters sarcastically, "you want a medal?"

I grin at her, "not particularly. What would it say?"

"How about, 'Griffin Ashlock – pointer out of the obvious,'" she retorts.

"Nah, personally I was thinking something along the lines of most handsome tribute," I say teasingly.

"Or, King of Modesty," she says, making me laugh out loud.

"That's perfect," I tell her, spreading my arms wide and adopting a deeper tone as I say, "I am the King of Modesty."

"Don't you ever get fed up of acting like an idiot?" she says, abandoning her search and coming to stand in front of me.

"Don't you ever get fed up of being so miserable all the time?" I ask back, finding my anger slightly peaked by this comment. It's always been easier for me to joke around than to actually face the truth, and I'm certainly not planning on stopping now. I shouldn't have to explain myself to her.

"We're in the Hunger Games," she says, folding her arms across her chest, "I don't have anything to be happy about."

"Do what you want," I reply, shrugging my shoulders and crossing the room to sit down on top of the sleeping bags, "but I'm not going to spend what could be the last few days of my life begin grumpy."

"But how can you be cheerful in this place?" she yells suddenly at me, making me jump slightly as her words echo around the room. I look over at her sadly – I wish I could encourage her to see the world as I do, and stop her getting worked up so easily.

I just turn the corners of my lip upwards, and smile over at her, waiting until she finally relents and smiles in response. "You're so frustrating."

"You too," I murmur softly. If only she knew the effect she had on me.

She huffs out a sigh and silence falls across the room as I lean my head back against the cold stone wall, and watch as she begins to sort through our supplies, which doesn't take very long. It's slightly worrying how little we have, and I bite my lip, thinking of how we only have one bottle of water left between us. Then we'll either have to rely on the generosity of our sponsors, or leave this sanctuary and find some of our own.

I shake my head, wanting to distract myself from these thoughts and choosing to concentrate on the here, and the now – just the way I always do.

I stand up, and she glances over at me. "Let's have some cake," I say, sliding the knife out of my belt and moving towards it.

She stands up too, blocking my way, "shouldn't we save it?" Ever the practical member of this alliance.

"For what?" I ask with a grin, "you have a birthday coming up soon?"

She snorts, "I guess not." Then she laughs as I brandish my knife and start to dig it brutally into the cake.

"What?" I ask in surprise.

"It's just... I don't know – there's something funny about you using your weapon to slice up a chocolate cake. It's just not what I would have imagined you might need a knife for in the Hunger Games." Huh, that's about the longest sentence she's ever said to me. What does that-

_Get a grip, Griffin._

"Here," I say, holding out my knife with a fairly uneven slice of cake suspended on the flat of the blade. "Beautifully presented, if I do say so myself."

She slides it off the blade and picks at it gingerly with her fingers. "That is _not _how you eat cake," I tell her, feigning disgust. I remember cake from our birthday parties when I was little, and how Moira and I would shove the whole slice into our mouths, because it was the best food we'd had all year. Of course, that had been when we'd had parents who actually cared, but I wouldn't say that I've grown up since then.

I cut myself a piece, and then take a huge bite, not really caring about getting chocolate smeared all over my face. "Why do boys always have to eat like that?" I raise my head, and find her watching me with a mildly amused expression.

I swallow the huge mouthful, "because, it's more fun when you don't care what other people think of you."

"I bet the Capitol loved you."

I laugh, remembering the expression of revulsion on the face of my escort when I had eaten like this in front of her. "Oh yeah, I was very popular."

We finish eating and then Samura shakes her head at me. "What?" I demand.

"You _have _to wipe your face," she instructs me. "I don't care if you have to use one of the sleeping bags, but you can't walk around like that."

"But, it's only you who's going to see me."

She sighs, "well, perhaps I don't want to see you with cake smeared all across your face," she answers grumpily.

"Because you want to be able to look at my face unmarred, right?"

"You wish," she snaps, but I can hear the faint trace of laughter in her voice. I remember her laughter yesterday, and during training and think of how it was the purest sound that I've ever heard. How every time I heard it, I just wanted to promise her that I would make her laugh like that every single day.

I don't want her to be miserable anymore, even though I know that she has so much to be sad about. But I don't think she'll let me make her happy.

After she's forced me to wipe my mouth, we sit in silence as the sky outside begins to slowly darken, casting long shadows into the room and I notice how Samura keeps glancing out of the window, more and more frequently as time passes.

"Are you worried the voices will come again?" I ask suddenly, knowing that she won't exactly react well to this.

To my surprise she glances over at me with a frightened expression on her face; her eyes wide and her mouth downturned. My heart squeezes in my chest as I take in the sight of her terror, and I wish I knew how to take it all away from her. That I was strong enough to protect her properly.

"Of course they'll come again," she replies, attempting her usual scathing tone but failing as her voice wobbles slightly. "I'm just so tired, Griffin," she says, in a worryingly gentle tone. "I wish they would leave me alone."

I rise to my feet, cross the room and sit down beside her. "You don't have to be scared of them," I tell her, wanting more than anything to take her hand and squeeze it tightly, to let her know that she doesn't have to go through any of this alone. That I'm not planning on letting her go through it by herself.

She shakes her head, "It's the memories I'm scared of." And I reach out a shaking hand, moving it slowly as though I'm approaching a scared animal out in the woods back in District 9. I touch her hair with soft fingers, and when she doesn't move away from me, I smooth the hair back from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. I need her to know that I'm not going anywhere.

* * *

I thought that after the last depressing chapter, I would write a chapter with no action, just relationships/alliances instead ;D I needed a break from writing about killing.

Oh, and I guess I should point out that the riddle does _not _belong to me.

**Answer: **Mad World, by Gary Jules.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _My heart's beginning to_ s_lightly overrule my head, m__y self control__, i__t won't hold up for very long._


	33. Lost Hope

_Day Four_

**Salima Yandas, District 1.**

I have to force myself to keep moving, convincing myself that remaining in one place will only result in my death. But I'm so tired, and so hungry – my feet keep plodding, one in front of the other, almost mechanically, without me really taking any control over their movement. I want to stop; I want to rest, but I don't want to be found.

I think about how my _beloved_ Capitol citizens must be seeing me now – just as some pathetic little girl who can't last four days by herself. Who can't handle their Hunger Games. And I find myself hating each and every one of them – how can they build themselves up to be majestic, and powerful when they treat people like this?

I feel nauseous as I remember how I used to beg my mother for aqua blue hair dye, so that I could look just like one of them. How I had pressed my face against the window of the make-up shop, taking in the fancy colours of the lipsticks, and the eye shadows. I want to scream at my past self, and tell her to open her eyes, and realise who the Capitol truly are. They weren't worthy of my worshipping, or of my desperation to be just like them. The only thing they deserve from me is my hatred.

My stomach rumbles, and I try to suppress a groan. Because I don't want to be seen as a weakling – I promised Leo that I would try and make it out of here. Well, at least now he can see that I did try. I abandoned Zack without a second thought in my need to get back home and so keep my promise to him. A shudder ripples through me as I remember his face, his eyes pleading with me to stay, and help him.

I shouldn't have just left him – he was injured, helpless – I could have done something to protect him from the fury of Samura. How could I have done that to someone who was supposed to be my ally? I had been selfish, in a moment that adrenaline had kicked in, and my desperate need to survive had overpowered my actions. And so I had survived that encounter, but as I wander alone through this dark forest and listen to the scuffling of creatures hidden in the undergrowth, I can't help but wonder if it was worth it.

At least with Zack I had almost stood a chance – at least before that happened, I could consider myself to be a good person. But now, I don't even have that anymore. Because my actions were not that of a _good _person. Of a compassionate human being.

I shake my head, tearing myself away from these thoughts. I should say, '_What's done is done,_' in the chirpy tone of my mother, and then convince the sponsors that I'm worth giving food and water to. But I can't – I can't think like that anymore. It might not technically have been my hand that delivered his death blow, but it might as well have been, because I had known what I was leaving him to. And I'm not sure if I deserve sponsors. Or if I even want any - to have to rely once more upon the hand of the Capitol.

I think of his face in the sky, the way his eyes had seem to bore straight through me, and suddenly I fall sprawling to the ground as my foot gets hooked in a tree root. As I lie there, with my face pressed against the cool dirt, I can't help wonder if there is much point in me getting back up again. But then something shudders in the earth beneath me, and I'm instantly trying to scramble back to my feet. A shriek escapes my lips as the root which had just tripped me over, rips itself out of the ground and snakes its way towards me.

I turn, trying desperately to move away from it, but I can't get away fast enough. Days of going without food have made my head groggy, and my movements slow. Something wraps around my ankle, and snags me off my feet. I fall back down to the ground with a thud that shakes my ribs. The root tries to drag me backwards – to what, I have no idea, but I know that I don't plan on letting it take me there – and I dig my nails into the soil beneath me. Once I wouldn't have dreamed of getting dirt under my nails like this, but I can honestly say that right now, I don't particularly give a damn.

Just as I feel the branch begin to slacken and I start to heave a sigh of relief, I feel a slight stinging pain along my arm and I yelp as I twist my head around, and something whacks me square in the face. I clamber to my feet, forgetting about the vine still wrapped around my ankle, and it sends me sprawling back down again. I yell in frustration and press my trembling fingers against my forehead. I gasp in disgust as my hand touches something wet, and I pull it away, glancing with horror at the blood that stains my fingertips.

The sight of so much redness makes my head spin, and the world lurches wildly beneath me. I can't be sure if I'm about to faint, or if the tree has gotten a hold of me again. I can't believe how ridiculous this is – I'm being beaten to a pulp by a tree. _Is this entertaining enough? _I wonder, as I'm forced to roll over onto my stomach as another vine pings at me out of nowhere.

Yet another one thuds into the ground beside me, sending a spray of dirt into my face. I hiss in pain as some of it hits the wound on my forehead. That can't be good – what if it gets infected or something? Perhaps I shouldn't be getting ahead of myself though, because I haven't even made it out of this yet. The vine around my ankle finally lets me go and I stagger to my feet; my knees tremble wildly, unable to hold me steady. _Make it stop, please make it stop. _

Another vine lashes against my side, and I scream in agony as it rips straight through my clothes and lashes against my skin. I career sideways, wanting to get out of my head so I can escape from the pain. Why does it hurt this badly? It feels like fire against my skin. Another one whips against me and I try to jump forwards in order to evade it, but it catches my back and the burning erupts again.

Through the haze which obscures my vision, I start to stumble sideways, wanting to get out of the reach of the tree. Branches thud against the ground behind me, sending shockwaves through the earth that threaten to send me flying back down to the floor. But, in my desperation, I manage to hold my balance and I take another five steps before a fresh wave of pain surges through me and I fall to my knees. I wince in anticipation of the feeling of another vine whipping against my skin, but although I can hear the tree battering against the floor behind me, nothing actually strikes me.

I twist my head, sighing in relief at what I see behind me. I'm far enough away that the branches can't reach me anymore – they can't get to me where I kneel on the grass. I look at the tree for a moment, watching as it writhes around like no tree should be able to do, and it splays its branches against the floor. Why is it only that particular one?

I shake my head; it's not as though it even matters. My side and back are still burning, and I can feel something beginning to trickle down my cheek. This is like being back with Zack again – I hadn't been able to cope with his injury either. It's worse now that I can't even see any of them; I need to know just how bad of a condition I'm in. Judging by the pain, and the way the edges of the world still seem slightly blurry to me, it's not great.

I need a few minutes to pull myself back together, to take a few deep breaths and then actually deal with my injuries. My head swims disconcertingly at the idea – I've never been particularly good with blood. Even just from a grazed knee, or a paper cut – it still makes me feel faint. But something tells me this a great deal worse.

I force myself to breathe, slowly and evenly, and the raucous noise of the tree finally dies down as I kneel there without moving. _It's only blood,_ I try to convince myself that it's nothing scary, but it doesn't really work. It's easy enough to say, but it's another thing to believe it – particularly when it's your own blood that you have to deal with.

Eventually, slowly, I manage to pull myself together, and I decide to start with my side. I suck in a breath between my teeth, and begin to tug my shirt away from the wound. I bite my teeth down heavily against my bottom lip as it sticks against it, pulling at my skin and I take another deep breath as everything around me starts going too white.

I'm never allowed to swear; my mother always insists that it's _impolite _or _un-ladylike, _but, to be perfectly honest, this seems like the perfect occasion for it. "Damn it," I hiss as I pull at my shirt again, trying to ease it slowly off my skin. "Shit." I tug it a tiny bit further, and the mark begins to appear. I had known it was bad from the amount of blood that had begun to soak through my t-shirt, but I _really _don't like the look of what I'm starting to uncover.

It looks _deep_ and blood is still seeping out of it. More so as I pull up the rest of my top in one go, yelping as I do. "_Fuck." _I bet my mother's not at all impressed with my language – a sort of vindictive pleasure rushes over me as I think of her expression back home. She can try being whipped to shreds by a tree, and then see if she can keep _her _language clean.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do next – I don't know how to treat wounds, particularly not scary gaping ones like this. I stare at it for a moment; fully aware that I have to do something to it. I also realise that, unless something more interesting is going on somewhere else in the arena, I will probably be the image that people are seeing on their television screens. And I'm hardly going to win any sponsors by acting like this. I'm in the Hunger Games, and I'm scared of blood.

Yeah, so now everyone knows exactly how much of a weakling I am. Just as I've decided that maybe I should look through my rucksack, even though I know Zack took the only bandages in it, just so that I seem productive, I feel something against the back of my neck – like a breath of wind. But nothing shakes the leaves of the trees ahead. I bite my lip, touching my neck where I had felt it.

Does it mean that someone is behind me? If so, then I'm easy prey. I'm barely able to manage standing up, but somehow I force myself to my feet and I scan my head around the dark depths of the forest.

A shudder ripples through me, but I see nothing. It must just be this place, causing me to imagine things. Just as I've convinced myself that nothing is there, I feel it again, but this time on my cheek. A yelp escapes from my throat, and I clap my hands against my skin. "Who's there?" I find myself whispering, my eyes flickering around rapidly.

I shake myself – _there's nothing there. It's nothing. _But then, what am I feeling? In some ways, I'd rather there actually was someone there, because at least then I'm not just starting to crack up, or something. It's the Gamemakers – it must be them; if they can make a tree move, then they can certainly make me feel breath against my skin.

But, I don't like it. The forest around me is unnaturally silent – the leaves don't even rustle, and the air hangs oppressively around me. This feels all wrong.

Then, suddenly, I hear something. "Salima," my name is whispered through the trees and my mouth forms a scream before I can do anything to stop it. My shrieks echo around me, and I stumble backwards, not stopping until I collide with a tree that knocks all of the air out of my lungs.

"Who's there?" I yell, desperately, hurling the words into the forest and hoping that someone will reply.

_Am I going insane? _None of this makes any sense.

"Salima."

No, no, no – I start shaking my head violently, forcing my aching body to move, to get away from the source of my name and disappear into the trees. My feet pound against the floor, but I will them to go faster. I'm not moving quickly enough. It takes almost tripping over my own feet for me to realise that I've left my rucksack behind. I yell in frustration, pounding my fist against the nearest tree. Everything looks the same, how am I supposed to get back to it?

My head spins again, and I press a hand to my side, looking at it in confusion when it comes away stained red. My whole body _hurts_ and I want to just slump down to the floor. "Salima."

This time, I recognise the voice, and my whole body stiffens. "Zack?" I rasp – but it can't really be him, can it? Because I saw his face suspended in the sky yesterday. That means he's supposed to be dead. "You're dead," I tell him, my vision starting to blur again. I keep my hand against my side, perhaps if I just hold it there then no more blood will be able to leak out of it. Something about my pounding temples suggests to me that I can't really afford to lose anymore.

"Salima." It sounds closer this time – perhaps that should bother me somehow. Why should it bother me?

_Concentrate – you have to focus. _I jerk in realisation – I left Zack to die, now he wants to kill _me_. But, something about this doesn't make sense.

He's dead.

His cannon went off. His face was in the sky. "You're not real," I whisper, unable to make my voice go any louder than that.

Is this all in my head? What's wrong with me? I don't understand why I can't _focus. _I stagger forward, knocking my shoulder against a tree as I do so. "Salima."

"Please, stop," I find myself begging, the words tearing out of my throat in my desperation. I'm losing my mind – none of this can possibly be real.

And then he calls my name again, except this time he sounds as though he is standing right behind me. I whirl around in horror, preparing myself to see him standing there. But behind me there are only trees. A sob rises in my throat and I scan the forest.

I clamp my hands tightly against my ears and, ignoring the pain that burns within my body and the fact that my rucksack still lies abandoned somewhere nearby, I hurtle deeper into the forest in my need to escape from the voice.

But I can't escape from it, not really – because it must all be in my mind. And the voice keeps following me. I know exactly why; it's because I abandoned him, because I feel so utterly disgusted with myself for having done something so despicable. It's just like the nightmares I had last night – the ones where I stood and did nothing as I watched Samura torturing Zack, hacking him apart. Except now I'm actually living in it.

I don't want to face the truth of what I've done – but my mind is forcing me to anyway.

I've almost reached the end of my energy levels, my shoulders are sagging and my feet are barely capable of taking steps, when I walk into something hard in front of me. At first I assume that it is just another tree and I start to walk on – to take a few more steps before I finally do have to collapse to the floor. But then something grabs the collar of my jacket.

Or, should I say, someone. Because I suddenly find myself looking up into the furious dark green eyes of the monstrous boy from District 10. He narrows his eyes at me, and I see nothing but anger within them. And I know that he's going to kill me. I guess I was dead anyway, because I can still feel the odd droplet of blood trickling down my cheek and the red that stains my shirt.

But, just as before, my need to keep living overwhelms me, and I try to twist free from his iron grasp. I don't have any strength left though, and he easily wraps an arm tightly around my neck. I whimper in horror as I realise that there's no escape left for me. That I might have just seconds left.

"Just, make it quick," I hear myself mutter.

"I promise," a voice whispers in my ear, and with my last thought I'm begging Zack to forgive me, because now I know exactly how it feels to be helpless in the face of your own death.

Then from somewhere I hear a crack, and the world flickers into darkness.

A cannon sounds.

* * *

Ok, I have to apologise because it's a much shorter chapter than usual, but I haven't had any time to write this week, and I wanted to get _something_ done. I'll make it up to you with something much longer next time :)

**Answer: **Who Knows, by Natasha Bedingfield

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Everything you have today, soon could be gone away, yesterday I had no sorrow, here today and gone tomorrow, here today and gone tomorrow._


	34. Cinderella

_Day Five_

**Rivka Locklier, District 12**.

I get my feet all tangled up in the roots and almost fall flat on my face, again. I sigh heavily, glaring down at the forest floor as I do so. I never realised how miserable being outside constantly can make a person. But all I want now is a comfy chair to sit in, and a nice warm bath. Of course, it's not particularly helping that Harrow keeps casting worried glances over at my shoulder, and it hurts like blazes.

I feel an arm slip through my mine, and Olive grins at me from my side. "How are you doing?" she asks, trying to adopt a bright tone. But I'm not daft – I like to think that I've come to know her well enough in the past seven days to know when she's hiding her true feelings. Something which she actually tends to do quite a lot.

The voices came again last night, but she clamped her hands over her ears and waited until it had finally stopped. I shudder, imagining how I would feel if it had been Raviv's voice that I had heard echoing from the shadows. Because it's far easier for me to suppress all memories of home, and concentrate on just being here. If I think of him, or Ari, or Lita, it makes me want to curl up into a ball and just wish that I was back home with them.

"Riv?" Olive gives me a nudge, and I force myself to rearrange my features into a smile.

"I'm fine," I murmur. But I'm lying just as much as she is, and she knows it too, judging from the look which she gives me.

"We're stopping," Harrow suddenly announces and pulls the pack off of his back and gestures for me to sit on the ground. I know that I should be grateful that Harrow is here, what with his medical expertise, but I'm just so fed up of being treated like such an invalid all of the time. I don't want them to see me as weak.

I perch on the edge of a tree stump, and let him unwind my bandages to check the wound. I've stopped wanting to look at it anymore – it's probably best that I don't see how bad it really looks. Besides, I get the message from the expression on Harrow's face whenever he checks on it.

He unwinds the bandages, and I wince slightly as I feel the cold air against it. Olive slumps down onto ground next to me, resting the side of her head on my knee. I bite my lip to keep myself from making a sound as Harrow squirts more of the anti-bacterial spray onto my shoulder. We've almost run out of it now – so Harrow's been using plants to treat it as well, just like he always did back home.

I watch him for a moment as he rewraps the bandages, criss-crossing them over one another and the look of concentration on his face reminds me of Reid for a moment, when he used to steal a book from my fingertips and bend his head close to the pages. He always loved reading just as much as I did. Well, _almost _as much. Before they'd taken my books away, I had read more of them than he had. Which means I had beaten him.

Always will now I guess, unless he manages to get his hand on some more books. Maybe if Harrow wins then he can use his prize money to buy him some.

I wish I could talk to Harrow about Reid now, but I know that he wants to think about his brother as little as I want to think about mine.

Harrow finishes wrapping my shoulder and then holds out the canteen. I take one, controlled sip and then screw the lid back on. Who knows when we'll find a water supply again? Perhaps we should have stayed by the stream, but all of us had felt far too exposed to sit around there. At least deep into the forests the trees give us some protection.

"What now?" Olive murmurs softly from her position on the forest floor, and both of our eyes flicker towards Harrow. He's become the natural leader of our group – I can barely bring myself to focus anymore, and I can tell Olive is still obsessing over Yari and the voices. So he's the only one out of us who's actually able think enough to make plans anymore. But I can tell from the way that his shoulders are sagging that he can't keep on like this for much longer.

"Can we just stay here for a bit?" I ask finally. The sun is up in the sky, and it's nice and warm on this tree stump. I can think of worse places to spend a couple of hours.

Harrow nods his head, suppressing a yawn behind his palm, "sounds good to me."

Silence settles over the camp for a few moments, and I can stand it. Too much silence gives me too much time to obsess over everything, and I can't face having to do that right now. Better to fill the empty spaces with conversation.

"What would you be doing right now if you were at home Olive? What are mornings like in District 3?" I ask suddenly, realising that I don't know all that much about Olive's home life, just that she has two sisters, and her father is dead.

She shifts herself so that she's facing me, and I spot the puzzled expression on her face.

"Please?" I find myself whispering.

"Well," she begins, "I guess I would be going out for a run. I used to always go before breakfast, so no one would tease me when they saw me in my running clothes." A slight smile passes over her face.

"You went running?" She nods. "Yuck – the most exercise I used to get was climbing up the ladder to get something of a high shelf in my parent's store."

Harrow laughs at this, shutting his eyes and raising his head towards the sunlight. "You barely even used to do that. I remember once you told me that I was more than tall enough to reach the shelves for myself."

I grin – I'd used to do that a lot. Even with the help of the ladder, I often wasn't tall enough to reach the very top shelf. Plus, it was always the big heavy jars that I could barely even carry. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of short," I point out, causing his smile to widen.

Olive just shrugs, "I wanted to train," she says, "just in case." It's strange – I never would have made her out to be one of those types who had obsessed about the Hunger Games after the announcement. There had been a couple of people in my class at school who had decided to start running laps, and lifting weights, but they were just the overly competitive type. The rest of us just got on with life as usual. I didn't have any time anyway, what with school and helping out my parents in the store.

"What about you Harrow? This time in the morning at home?"

"Probably being jumped on by Griet," he answers with a soft smile. I picture his little sister now in my mind – her soft blonde girls and her excitable attitude about absolutely everything.

"She tripped me over one time," I tell him, "she said it was to prove to me that she was stronger than I was. It hurt quite a bit actually."

He grins, "that sounds like her."

"How old is she?" Olive asks softly.

"Six – she acts much younger most of the time though. She can be an absolute pain."

"I bet she's watching with indignation right now," I give him a quick nudge. But I wince slightly – for a moment I'd almost managed to forget about my shoulder and I moved it far too quickly. Harrow shoots me an anxious glance and I just sigh. I can't help but wish that he would stop fretting.

Olive's eyes flicker between the two of us, "now it's your turn, Rivka," she lays, leaning her head back down onto the edge of the tree stump.

I think of morning time back home – of the clamour while everyone tries to grab slices of bread from the kitchen counter. Lita's complaints when she inevitably ends up with the end piece. Mum telling a loud, rambling story about the latest piece of gossip she picked up about the neighbours. Ari staring out of the window – she always does this, and she thinks I don't know why. But I'm not daft – I see the way her eyes follow Jaro, the blacksmith's son. Dad and Raviv are always rolling their eyes at the rest of us from the kitchen table.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear the teardrops from my eyes. I promised myself that I would try not to think of them while I was in the arena – I don't want to bring my memories of them into this awful place in case it ruins them. Taints those thoughts which I want to keep sacred. I should never have asked Olive that stupid question.

I shake my head quickly, "just noise and mayhem," I mutter, refusing to look either of them in the eye.

"Riv-?" Harrow starts to ask, but I cut him off with a glare.

"Why don't you tell us a story?" I ask Olive. I could really use a good story – it's been so long since I've been able to immerse myself in a book, lose myself in the mind of a character. Of course, I make up bedtime stories for Lita sometimes, but it isn't the same thing.

She looks at me blankly, "But I can't just make up-"

I shake my head, "can't you remember one? We call you Jabberjay for a reason," I point out, thinking of the muttation with the ability to mimic the conversations which it hears.

"How about one I used to read to my sisters at bedtime?"

I nod my head – anything will do. I just need a story to get me out of this arena.

Olive adjusts her position, thinks for a moment, and then begins to speak in a soft, soothing tone that reminds of my mother reading to me when I was little.

"There was once a rich man," she begins, "whose wife died, leaving him with one little girl. After many years, hoping to give his child a mother's love and care, he married again, this time a widow, with two grown-up daughters. But his second wife was haughty and proud, and her two daughters were even worse than their mother; and the poor little girl had a very unhappy time with her new relations. Her stepsisters were jealous of her, for she was very beautiful, and they themselves were plain and ugly. They did all they could to make her miserable; and, at length, through their wicked spite and envy, her life became a burden to her. The poor child was sent to live in the kitchen, where she had to do all the rough and dirty work; and because she was always dressed in rags, and sat beside the cinders in the grate, they called her Cinderella."

* * *

"The Prince was overjoyed to find her again; and they got married at once. As for the wicked sisters – they were so jealous that they both turned green with envy. They grew uglier and uglier every day, until at last they grew so horribly ugly that no one could stand to look at them anymore. But Cinderella become more and more beautiful, and lived happily ever after with the Prince."

I close my eyes as her story comes to an end, and I feel my lips curve up into a smile. I used to have a beautiful book of that story – with colourful pictures and flowing text. It had belonged to my Great-Grandmother, and my mum had given it to me when I was little. Of course, the Peacekeepers hadn't cared about that – they had taken it away along with every other story in my book collection. My shelves look so bare these days.

"Thank you Olive," I murmur, regretting the fact that now I have to face reality again rather than letting myself simply be absorbed in someone else's story. "How did you remember it so well?"

She just laughs, "I've read it quite a few times. It used to be my little sister's favourite story, so I've had a lot of practice of telling it."

"I haven't heard it in ages," I tell her, smiling over at her. As much as I may hate pretty much everything that's happened to me since I became a tribute, I can't bring myself to regret meeting Olive and growing closer to Harrow, rather than just seeing him as my best friend's older brother. I know that I shouldn't have let myself get so close to them, when only one of us can make it out of here alive, but I just don't want to be alone in this place.

As pathetic and as weak as it sounds to admit it, I _need_ this alliance to keep me from losing my mind in here. I can only wonder what's going to happen when we run out of time, and the alliance has to end. I shudder even just thinking about this eventuality. I don't want to lose either of them.

I've just decided that maybe I should suggest that we eat something, when there's a rustle in the bushes behind us and Harrow's head jerks upright. I don't even need to look behind to know that it's something bad when his eyes widen in horror and he lurches to my feet.

My body immediately stiffens and then he's yelling at us to move, to run, but I _hurt. _My whole body is tired and my shoulder throbs viciously, distracting me from the fact that there's clearly something dangerous in those bushes. Another tribute? Or something else?

"Rivka! Move!" Harrow practically screams at me and finally I manage to push myself upwards off the stump and I collide straight into him as I move forwards.

"Harrow, what-"

He starts pushing me brutally towards the trees, "it doesn't matter – we just have to get out of here."

And possibly I should just listen to him, because clearly whatever it is, is so horrifying that he would rather Olive and I don't see it. But morbid fascination overwhelms me and I twist my head around to peek into the bushes.

A few seconds later, I really wish that I hadn't.

My feet pound against the ground as I flee through the trees, following Olive's harsh breathing from in front of me. Branches whack into my face, stinging my cheeks and the pain in my shoulder becomes almost unbearable as I force myself to move faster.

Just as I realise that I can't keep running – that I have to stop because even the fear of what's behind me can't block out the agony running along my arm – a blast of fire suddenly bursts through the trees. I yelp and fling myself to the side, groaning in pain as I land on the wrong side and pain shoots along my shoulder. I can hear Olive screaming in front of me and I can just about make out the shape of her body sprawled on the floor.

But what about Harrow?

I shriek out his name desperately, the word ripping out of my throat as I throw it out into the forest.

I don't hear anything. Why don't I hear anything? "HARROW?" I screech, trying to scramble back to my feet, but my stupid, useless arm buckles underneath me as my should decides that it can't take my weight and while I lie struggling on the ground I can hear the rustling of the creature grow closer.

I have absolutely no idea what it's supposed to be – but I did not like the look of its ferocious claws or its thick shell. How are you supposed to beat something like that?

It's the fear that this thing might find us that finally spurs me to grit my teeth and push myself to my feet. The world swims worryingly in front of my eyes and I struggle to keep myself conscious. I raise a hand to my shoulder, and then yank it away in horror as I feel something wet against my fingers.

My hand is stained bright red. I watch it in confusion for a moment, not understanding why there's suddenly so much blood.

Blearily, I assume that the fall must have opened up the wound again.

Harrow would understand – would be able to fix it. But Harrow isn't here. I press my hand to my head to try and control the spinning, probably smearing blood all over my face as I do so. But I'm beyond caring at this point.

I can't hear the rustling anymore – this confuses me for a minute, because surely it isn't done with us yet? Maybe it got a better offer?

Harrow? My stomach tightens in horror as I consider this idea I stumble across the floor towards Olive who is crouched on her knees, cradling her wrist. I need to tell her that Harrow is in danger, but the words die in my mouth as I see sobs shaking her body.

There's a moment where I don't understand why. But then I see the skin on her hand – it's furiously red, almost black in places.

I remember the fire. Did she get burned?

But the pain in my shoulder is starting to become more than just a little bit distracting – I can feel the wetness soaking through my shirt.

I wonder hazily how much blood I'm losing.

But it doesn't seem to matter all that much because blackness is starting to obscure my vision, and it becomes far too tempting just to give into it, and hide myself away from this pain.

So I let myself disappear into the darkness, and everything goes black.

* * *

**Spectators IV**

Felicity stares intently at the screen, her heart beating in her mouth as she watches Rivka slump to the ground. She half expects a cannon to sound, signalling her death; she's hardly been in great shape ever since Misha shot that arrow through her shoulder. Now, didn't that make for exciting television?

Perhaps on the first day of the Hunger Games Felicity had felt slightly repulsed by the sight of so much violence, even if her parents had assured her that the tributes deserved it. That they had to pay for the way the rebels had decimated the Capitol.

But _now? _Now Felicity knows the heart racing joy of watching the fighting and the violence as these people fight for their lives. It's like one of her favourite action movies that her parents sometimes let her download, when they're feeling in a generous mood, but it's _real. _And it gives her a rush of adrenaline that Felicity has never experience before.

Sure, she enjoys seeing the way the tributes speak with one another – the bonds they form, and the arguments which they have. But nothing can beat a scene like she has just witnessed – tributes fleeing through the forest from a terrifying creature that snaps at them with its claws, and launches streams of fire through the trees.

That reminds her – where did that creature go? One minute the camera had been alternating between Olive and Rivka hurtling along, and the thing chasing after them. But now it remains solely focused on Olive, who holds her hand against her chest and stares at Rivka as though she has no idea what to do with her. A cannon still hasn't sounded, so that means that Rivka is alive, for now.

She hopes that Olive will be able to survive this, after all, she has a month's worth of allowance riding on her. Perhaps her sponsorship money can buy her some medicine for her burn.

The fire-creature, whatever it was, has definitely disappeared for now and Felicity leans closer to the screen as she realises that this can only mean one thing – that something far more interesting is happening elsewhere.

Sure enough, the screen flickers and a different scene appears on the television screen. She clasps her hands together in excitement as the forms of two tributes come into view, both of them glaring at one another, their hands wrapped firmly around the weapons at their belts.

Felicity had secretly always hoped that these two would have to face each other in the arena – she had never quite been able to make up her mind about which one she preferred and this fight will be a perfect way of finding out once and for all who is the stronger tribute.

Both of them slide their weapons out and Felicity's body tenses with anticipation for the battle.

* * *

I guess it's time for another apology on my part - one for the late update and one for the shortness of the chapter. :D I won't make any promises this time!

And, as you are probably aware, I don't own the story of Cinderella.

**Answer: **World Keeps Turning, by Brett Dennen.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Well how's about telling a story_, o_ne that's really about somebody_, w_hat they saw and what they did_, h_ow they died and how they lived._


	35. A Cannon

_Day Five_

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

Lien glares over at me from the other side of the camp. She's still going on and on at me, blaming me for her bruises. Fine, next time I'll just let her walk into the creepy shadows, and then she can suffer the consequences. Something tells me it would have been a hell of a lot worse than her banged up face, but I know she doesn't see it that way. What is with girls and being so shallow all of the time?

I've had more than enough of her anyway. I think I would have been much better off without any allies at all, because they've been next to useless.

I think back to how Kye had turned on me with no warning, no explanation. I had felt bad when I had killed him, because it's not in my nature to break agreements. We had been allies, and while we had all known that it wouldn't last, I still had enough integrity not to break it without any kind of warning.

But Kye had forced my hand. I want to survive, to make it back home to Envee having proved that I'm still capable of fighting. That I'm still good enough to make something of myself. And so he'd had to die.

Still, while I'm fairly certain that he had gone a little bit insane, at least he was another person to keep me company. Now I'm stuck with Lien, who doesn't make conversation, she just complains and gives me filthy glances.

Perhaps it would be easier if I were just to kill her, and be done with it. But I can't deny that killing a little kid is repulsive. I guess some of the tributes that I had killed during the opening battle could easily have been just as young as her, but she _looks _so innocent and fragile. I mean, I know that she's not, but there's enough of a resemblance between her and Brianna that my whole body protests at the idea of taking her life.

I roll my eyes at myself. I had volunteered for the Hunger Games – I had known that this was coming. But imagining doing something is very different to actually carrying it through.

I shift my position, suddenly feeling restless. I can't be sitting around here, debating the moral implications of the Hunger Games. That's not the way I roll – act first, think later. That's always been my motto, and I'm certainly not planning on changing it now.

"We're going hunting," I say firmly, my eyes flickering over to the forest. Sasha's in there somewhere. I could have taken her out yesterday if it hadn't been for Kye. I don't know what he had been thinking. Now I have to try and find her all over again.

Lien just shakes her head. "_We're _not going anywhere. I'm still injured."

"It's barely an injury," I tell her, but I don't particularly care if she wants to stay here by herself. In fact, it would be far easier for me it she would just stay here. "Fine, you stay here. I'm leaving," I tell her.

"Good, and don't come whining back to me when you don't find that bitch from District 4," she says, searching through the packs to find something to eat.

"I'm not coming back," I snap suddenly, my anger rising at her words. Who does she think she is that she can talk to me like that? I was a soldier for the Capitol during the rebellion, for Panem's sake, and who is she? A little girl who probably hid away during the rebellion, too much of a coward to fight for what she believes in, not that I know what that is.

I don't know why I even allied with her in the first place – she's a complete waste of space.

"What did you just say?" she demands, rising to her feet with her hands on her hips.

"I said, I'm leaving, and I'm not planning on coming back," I repeat, grabbing a pack and beginning to rifle through our mound of supplies.

"What are you doing?" her voice rises in anger as she speaks, and she lurches towards me with a determined expression on her face. She reaches out and tries to tug the bag out of my hands. I yank it away from her so quickly that she falls to the ground.

What did she think? I was just going to hang around and listen to her whine forever? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

She scrambles back upright and tries once more to pull the bag away from me. I hang onto it, and raise my eyebrows at her. She finally relents and stomps her foot in frustration. "But there are still twelve of us left, it's too early to be thinking about breaking up the alliance," she says, eyeing me angrily.

I do understand – originally I had planned to stay part of the alliance until there were just a few of us left, but if I stay here with Lien much longer then I will have to start tearing my hair out and, judging by the exhibitions of Capitolian shallowness that I've seen up until now, I don't think I'll get very many sponsors if I make myself bald.

"This was going to happen eventually," I tell her patiently. Maybe I would feel bad for ditching her if she was just the slightest bit less annoying. But now that I've made up my mind about leaving, I just want to get out of here.

"But, you can't just leave me!" she yells furiously.

I clench my jaw impatiently, "why? Because you need me here to protect you while you sit around and do nothing all day?"

This shuts her up.

"You can either accept that I'm leaving, and just let me get on with it. Or you can keep complaining, and then I'll be forced to kill you." I watch her, feeling a slightly vindictive pleasure as she goes completely white. She bites her lip, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"Don't you care that I won't last a day without you?" she asks, in a voice I haven't heard her use once since we got into the arena. I've spent enough time around her to know what she's really like, and it certainly isn't this simpering little girl whose role she's trying her hardest to adopt now.

"Don't bother," I tell her, "I can see right through you. You're nowhere near as innocent as you might want the others to believe. So just drop the act, because you haven't really bothered with it up until now, and you're fooling no one."

I can see the fight go out of her eyes, and I sigh in relief. As much as I might not want to admit it to myself, I don't really want to be the one who ends up killing her. Even though she does annoy the shit out of me. I really have to get over the fact that she has a slight look of Brianna about her, because if it comes down to just us two in the end, then I need to be able to kill her.

Oh well, I doubt that she'll really last all that much longer.

I quickly smother the feeling of guilt that rises in my stomach as this realisation hits me. I shake my head, and quickly shove more supplies into my pack. I have to take as much as I can carry, I can hardly rely on the sponsors to send me everything I might need.

I avoid her eyes as I collect my weapons together and then I let my eyes flit around the camp for one last time.

"So you're really just leaving?" she asks, her sharp voice cutting through the silence.

I nod tersely, "I think we both know this alliance has been over for a while."

She snorts suddenly, and I glance over at her in confusion. "It sounds as though you're breaking up with me."

I bark a quick laugh, but then I press my lips together tightly.

She sighs, "I would wish you good luck, but I doubt that it would sound very sincere."

"Fair enough," I answer, "I would say this has been fun, but I don't think there's any way in hell I could make _that _sound sincere. Just do yourself a favour, and stay out of those shadows." I have no idea why I said that.

She watches me in confusion, "I guess at least now I'm free to do what I want without fear of bruises."

I roll my eyes, "goodbye, Lien."

She nods once in my direction, and then turns away from me dismissively. Why does she have to be so _difficult? _She doesn't do herself any favours by acting that way.

I shoulder the pack, wincing slightly at the weight, but I've carried heavier things in my time, and I trudge slowly away from the campsite.

* * *

I've been walking for several hours, my feet are beginning to ache and my stomach feels annoyingly hollow. I'm just coming to the decision that I'll have to stop at some point soon when I suddenly hear a sound.

I stiffen, coming instantly to a standstill, my eyes darting around the trees as though I'll be able to discern the source of the sound. It's some screaming, I think, but there's no movement in the forest around me. I reach for my spear, wrapping my fingers tightly around the wooden shaft.

It makes me feel safer, knowing that I can yank this out of my belt and hurl it straight through any tribute who emerges from the trees.

It comes again – it sounds like someone screaming at the top of their lungs. I listen closely for a moment, before taking off through the trees, following the source of the noise.

**Harrow Followill, District 12.**

Everything turns to chaos.

One moment I'm fleeing through the trees, sprinting after Rivka and Olive, just relieved that they're ahead of me, that they're going to get away from this thing.

The next moment I tangle my feet through a vines lying haphazardly across the forest floor. They send me sprawling, face first, into the dirt. I instantly try to stand back up, because I can still hear that _thing _lumbering through the trees behind me.

I force myself back up, ignoring the pain that burns in my legs as I strain my muscles and I scan the forest ahead of me, hoping for any sight of the others.

Just as I'm starting to worry, because there's no sign of them anywhere in front of me, a loud noise bursts through the forest and I jump violently as a stream of fire suddenly appears, forcing me to throw myself off to the side. I land with a thud that knocks all of the air out of my lungs and I lie for a moment, flat on the ground as the creature shambles past me.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. But then I hear a scream – it sounds vaguely like my name, and I stiffen as I recognise the voice. It's Rivka, screaming at the top of her lungs by the sound of it. That can only mean one thing – she's in trouble, and I _have _to save her.

Then she shrieks again, and I finally spur myself to get up off the floor, and go and find her. I glance around at the scorched forest in confusion, needing the scream to sound again so that I can follow it. I try to call out, to get her to answer me, but I start choking on the smoky air the moment that I open my mouth to make a sound.

I have no choice – I have to start moving, heading in the vague direction from where I heard her scream, and I can only hope that I won't arrive there too late to be able to help her. She's weak anyway and Olive still isn't over what had happened with Yari, and the voices.

I start to run – I need to find them, before someone else does.

**Lien Axford, District 9.**

I hate Aaron. He's the only one I blame for this – if he had been here then I would have had someone else to protect me, but now I'm on my own and I don't know what to do. I stare in horror for a moment at the thing that has just crept out of the trees, heading straight towards me.

The sight of its long, shell covered body fills me with revulsion - its legs stick out at odd angles as it keeps wriggling its way towards me. It isn't the armour, or the legs, that worry me though, it's the massive stinger at one end of its body.

I'm rooted to the spot for a moment, just taking in the sight of it as it slowly begins to close the gap between us, and then, finally, I come to my senses and I force my legs to move.

I cast one last, regretful look at the campsite – now not only have I lost my alliance, but also my camp in the same day. This day has to be the worst one of my life so far. Up until now I actually had a chance in these Games, but _now? _

Now I'm forced to sprint across the vast lawn, running desperately towards the barriers of the forest as though the trees might be able to protect me somehow from this grotesque creature. But all can I do is hope that I can run fast enough, for long enough, that it will give up and leave me alone.

As I reach the forest I can still hear it behind me, and I can't help the scream that tears from my lips as I almost trip as my feet get tangled up in the roots.

I shriek again as I hear its body scraping along the forest floor behind me, and I force myself to keep running, desperately moving my feet one in front of the other. I refuse to let this thing kill me. I have to escape.

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

Kelby sits crouched on the floor, her arms wrapped her knees, her eyes staring off into the darkness. Flint is perched next to her, her fingers drawing aimless patterns in the dirt. I watch the swirls for a moment, but then my eyes flicker back to Kelby.

She's missing her son, feeling homesick. I suppose I would be the same if I had a child of my own, someone waiting for me back home who was completely dependent on me. Not that I can really see myself as mother material, I would imagine that most children need a parent who would actually have the skills to look after them.

I sigh, folding my arms over my stomach and settling myself back against a tree trunk.

This morning is dragging. Kelby is depressed and I have absolutely no clue what I'm supposed to say to make her feel better. Flint is off in a world of her own, humming to herself. And I'm sitting here, wishing that something would happen.

The next second, I really want to take back my wish. There's a rustle in the bushes behind me, and I spring instantly to my feet, once again hating how vulnerable I feel without a weapon. Behind me I can hear Kelby and Flint rising to their feet, and weapons being slid from belts. My hand moves to my own belt involuntarily. _Now would be a really useful time for a sponsor to send me a weapon, _I think impatiently, my eyes flickering towards the sky as though, by some miracle, someone out there might just read my thoughts and send me what I need.

Yeah, not a chance.

And I can definitely hear something moving towards us. I just catch sight of a pair of dark eyes and a scream rips out of my throat. I have no idea what it is, but I say for certain that it isn't human.

Someone grabs my arm, and I shriek again, convinced that I'm done for, that this is it. But then I catch sight of the orange hair of Kelby. I feel colour rise to my cheeks in embarrassment, but this is no time to be feeling humiliated.

I almost trip over my own feet as I whirl away from the trees and I sprint away into the trees, hearing Kelby and Flint close on my heels.

And then I hear the growl of something else, and I have to suppress another scream. I force my legs to move faster, force my mind to ignore the pain of running so fast.

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

The screaming has long since stopped, but I'm sure I must be closing in on the tribute by now. This is definitely whereabouts it had sounded and I force myself to keep running, even though my muscles feel like giving up after spending the whole day walking.

Then, just as I'm certain that they must be around here somewhere, someone collides straight into me and I stagger to the ground, the weight of another tribute heavy across my chest. I can hear panting from somewhere above me – it's clear that whoever it is has been running flat out for a while. I'm breathing just the same way.

Whoever it is finally moves off me and I lurch upright, my eyes meeting those of my opponent. Angry blue ones glare back at me and I glare into the face of the boy from District 12. He slides a knife from his belt, a determined look flashing in his eyes, but we both know he has no real chance against me. Or, at least, I know, and he would be wise to think the same thing.

I let my hands slide along the blade at my own belt for a moment, but then I tighten my grip around the spear. I'm too tired for a long fight – I would rather just end this, and have it over with. But he lunges towards me before I've got the chance to raise it over my head in order to throw it at him and I jump backwards, expecting to feel the sting of his knife against my skin.

Instead though, he hacks the blade against the shaft of my spear and I growl in fury as I realise what's he's trying to do. Luckily, he wasn't strong enough to completely slice through it, but the top half of the spear leans forwards precariously.

I feel like screaming; this is the only spear I took with me when I left Lien – I didn't think I'd be able to carry more than one, had thought it would get in the way. I curse my own damn stupidity, and let the spear drop to the ground. It's useless now, broken as it is. I can only hope to distract him for long enough that I can break it in half along the mark left by his knife, and throw the shorter part of it through him.

In the meantime being I yank my knife out of my belt and bring it up to meet his as he takes another swing at me. I block it easily and try to lunge past him. I don't reach him, but it's enough to knock him off balance, which gives me enough time to launch my fist into his stomach.

He releases a cry of pain and presses one hand against his stomach. For a moment I think he's going to drop to the ground but instead he aims a kick at my shin. I try to jerk backwards to avoid it, and just the tip of his boot scrapes against my leg.

"You'll have to try better than that," I pant, slashing towards him once more with my knife.

"I won't let you beat me," he mutters, ducking to avoid the blade and then he launches himself towards me, knocking me off my feet. I struggle underneath his weight, kicking out wildly with my legs until finally they connect with his body and send him sprawling off to the side.

I suck in air, trying to catch my breath as he scrabbles in the dirt for his knife. If only I could get back upright, then I would have the advantage, but the day of walking is beginning to take its toll on me and it takes me a few seconds to pull myself together and then I lurch upright.

He's already waiting for me; he aims a punch towards my chin and I shift my weight backwards so it won't hurt so much, but the sudden ache that erupts in my jaw makes me clench my fists in anger.

"You can't kill me," I hear him murmur under his breath, "I have to help them. I can't die yet."

"Well, whoever _they _are, they're in trouble. Because you're not getting out of this alive," I snap at him and he looks up at me in surprise. I clearly wasn't meant to overhear. See, this is why allies are a bad idea. They make you weak; you always have to be thinking about someone else.

I twist my knife, trying to cut the arm that holds his own blade but he jerks backwards just in time. Unfortunately for him, this is a manoeuvre I used many times during the days of the rebellion and I quickly dance around while he's distracted and kick the back of his knees.

His eyes widen as his legs crumple beneath him and he slumps to his knees in front of me, breathing harshly and clutching his blade tightly. It doesn't matter though, I'm not going to let him get away. I raise my blade.

* * *

Aaron holds his blade against Harrow's neck, his chest heaving and his pulse racing as Harrow struggles desperately against his iron grip, knowing that he has to be there to take care of Rivka and Olive, that Rivka doesn't stand a chance without him.

Lien sprints through the trees, her arms flailing wildly as she tries to knock branches out of her way. She won't let herself stop, not for a single moment, otherwise she knows that she's a goner. But it's closing in on her. Then she trips, and falls head first onto the forest floor.

Sasha, Kelby and Flint watch with horror as a wolf bounds out of the trees towards them; they're backed up against the castle, with nowhere else to run. It snarls, revealing rows of sharp teeth and none of them can tear their eyes away as it begins to prowl closer.

* * *

A cannon booms loudly, sending a flock of birds squawking into the sky. Then silence falls across the arena.

* * *

Well, I'm 99% sure that I know who that cannon is going to be for.

And I know a lot of people wanted a Sasha/Aaron fight, but I'm not quite ready for that one yet, although I do have a plan for it ;D This chapter was originally just going to be in Aaron's point of view, but then I felt like being cruel, so my plan changed. I hope it made sense!

Also, I have a new poll up, so vote and let me know who your favourites are.

**Answer: **How's About Telling A Story, by Devendra Banhart

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _And I will die alone and be left there, well, I guess I'll just go home, oh God knows where, because death is just so full and mine so small, well, I'm scared of what's behind and what's before._


	36. Set Free

_Day Five_

**Spectators V**

Felicity watches with a thrill of excitement as the events unfold on the screen in front of her eyes, she leans forward, almost as though she wishes she could be part of the action on the screen. The image keeps flickering, alternating between three different scenes, and Felicity doesn't know which one she is most anxious to watch.

It suddenly settles on Lien who is scrambling to her feet, her eyes wide with horror as her head darts around wildly. Felicity watches as the creature begins to close in on her, dragging itself along the forest floor and closing the gap between them.

A look of utter terror crosses Lien's face and then she lets out a squeal and throws herself towards the nearest tree. The flats of her palms bang against the lowest branch, and she just about manages to hold on, her legs flailing wildly against the tree trunk as she tries to push herself up further.

She hangs there for a minute, panting wildly and watching the creature's approach with a nervous expression painted across her face while her boots scrape against the trunk.

Eventually the soles of her boots make contact with the tree and she pushes herself off against the trunk with a wild shriek, slapping her stomach against the branch. She lies there for a moment, her breath coming in harsh gasps and her eyes still trained on the creature. It has reached the bottom of the tree and tries to fling itself upright in an attempt to get to her.

It throws itself at the tree trunk and Felicity winces at the cracking noise that is suddenly emitted from her television screen. It lands on its back, its legs flailing in the air as it struggles to flip itself back over.

But Lien gathers herself together and begins climbing higher. It's clear to Felicity that she's safe, for now, and she heaves a sigh – she had been hoping to see something more interesting.

Luckily for Felicity the screen then flickers back to an image of Harrow and Aaron. Her jaw drops as she realises that Harrow has almost escaped from Aaron's grasp. Both of them are breathing heavily, their chests heaving as they struggle against each other.

Harrow keeps a hand wrapped tightly around Aaron's wrist, preventing him from bringing his knife any closer to his throat. But Aaron's other hand is still locked around Harrow's neck; his face is steadily beginning to turn purple.

Suddenly Harrow twists his hand around Aaron's wrist, who lets out a yell of pain and his hand slips from around Harrow's neck.

Felicity leans closer towards the screen as Harrow jumps up from the ground, knocking Aaron brutally to the floor as he does so. He lands face first in the dirt with a grunt and everything falls silent. This fight has been nail-bitingly close, but now it seems to Felicity that Harrow has the upper hand.

She watches in excitement as Harrow stares down at Aaron for a moment. She didn't see this coming – from the moment the fight had started she had believed that Aaron was going to win.

But Harrow doesn't move towards him, merely stands there, struggling to catch his breath. Aaron begins to stir and locks his arms underneath him in order to push himself back up. Felicity watches in confusion as Harrow takes one last look at Aaron and disappears into the trees.

She bangs the flat of her palm against the cushion. That wasn't _action. _Someone was supposed to die at the end of that fight. Harrow has gone right down in her estimation – she has no time for cowards. Don't they understand that the Hunger Games is about death, and excitement? There's no excitement about an unfinished fight.

Just as Felicity is fuming about Harrow's action, the screen flickers once more and a different scene appears in front of her. She had forgotten about this last set of tributes in her excitement over the fight between Harrow and Aaron.

But as she watches the muttation advance slowly towards them, she knows that they're in trouble. And by the looks on their faces, so do they.

**Flint, District 7**.

My mother used to say that she would get a feeling deep in her bones whenever something bad was about to happen, that she knew that it was coming.

I had always laughed at her for saying this – back then I had sometimes believed in magic, but normal people couldn't do things like that. I left magic well alone.

But now? Now I understand what she meant completely, because as I watch the wolf prowl towards us out of the trees, a shudder ripples throughout my body, and I know that this isn't going to end well.

I cast a glance towards my allies. Kelby gives me a weak smile and Sasha simply lowers her eyebrows in determination.

"We're not going to die here, alright?" she snaps, watching me with angry eyes until I finally nod.

I never really liked to think about death. It always brought memories of flames licking walls and screams along with it. The smell of smoke fills my nostrils from a long distant memory; I want to close my eyes, and clasp my hands against my ears, which is what I always do when the memories grow too strong and threaten to overwhelm me.

But, of course, I can't. I have to focus, something which has never come easily to me.

Even as my whole body stiffens in terror and my palms graze against the wall behind me, I'm thinking how soft the wolf's fur looks. It's like a coat I had when I was younger. My mother had used to wrap me up in it, and I would barely even feel the wind outside when I had it on.

I shake my head, clearing these thoughts from my mind. Suddenly it's running towards us, and all three of us shriek. I chuck myself off to the side, landing with a heavy thud against the ground that knocks all the air out of my lungs.

It doesn't help when Sasha lands straight on top of me. "Sorry," she squeals, darting to her feet and pulling me with her.

She tries to drag me around to the other side of the clearing, but I yell out Kelby's name and we both search around us, my eyes flicker around desperately. We need to find her and then get out of here.

I catch a glimpse of her orange hair near the base of the castle and I wrench my hand out of Sasha's and take off running towards her.

I'm moving so quickly that I don't notice the wolf until Kelby raises her head and shrieks loudly, point to something over my shoulder.

I yell as something heavy collides against my back, and I wince slightly, expecting to feel claws against my skin. Instead I hear Sasha's panicked voice in my ear. "Get up, get up," she yells and suddenly her weight is gone.

I scramble to my feet and grab at Kelby's hand. She grimaces as I pull her upright and I glance at her in worry. Is she hurt? I can't tell.

I hear a growl behind me and I pull my knife from my belt, turning to face its snapping jaws."Flint!" Kelby shrieks from beside me as the wolf lunges towards me and I drop straight to the ground under its weight. Its fur is strangely smooth against my bare arms, and for a moment I imagine that I'm back at home, lying on the rug beside the fireplace.

Then I let out a scream as I feel its teeth clamp down on my skin, and I'm returned to my senses. I thrash around wildly, throwing my arms in my desperation to get the thing off me.

There's a blur of red off to one side of me, and then the wolf stiffens slightly and slumps to the side with a low whimper. I draw a shaky breath, filling my lungs with air in an attempt to alleviate the dark spots that float before my eyes.

I hear a loud thud and a squeal – it's Sasha, I think. Strange, really, that I would grow so close to people in the arena that I would be able to recognise them simply from their screams.

The spots start to blur together – it's almost like cloud watching; I can make out patterns and shapes in front of my eyes. Two merge together, and for a brief moment they form something resembling a rabbit's hand.

Then I shake my head and my vision clears. I try to climb to my feet, but my legs don't seem to be working very well. And there's an annoying throb of pain emanating from my arm. I glance down at it, confused for a moment when I see the red that's beginning to stain through my sleeve.

I touch it and as I jerk my hand away I stare at the drop of red that clings to my fingertips. Back home if I had ever hurt myself, Opal would wrap an old piece of cloth around the wound and Garnet would snort at me – telling me off for constantly being so clumsy. I wonder if they're both watching me back in District 7?

I wouldn't watch, if I were them. I've never liked watching violence. Suddenly something brushes against my shoulder and I jump in terror and squeal.

"Flint, for Panem's sake, it's me," Sasha snaps in my ear and I whirl around to watch her. She cocks her head sideways at me, "what are you doing?"

Only then do I really remember where I am, and my ears are filled with the sound of growls. I glance behind Sasha and my eyes find Kelby, her sword out and the wolf snapping at her legs.

"I should help her," I hear myself mutter.

Sasha simply rolls her eyes at me and holds out her hand, "give me your knife, you're clearly in no position to fight." But Sasha's no good with a knife – she can't use it naturally; it flails about as though she has no control over it.

She might get Kelby injured if she goes into that fight with it. I take a deep breath and try to convince myself that this is no different to when I was fighting the other tributes before.

Except it has claws, and huge snapping teeth, and a tail and... _Shut up Flint, _I tell myself, _don't try and convince yourself not to do this._

And before my brain thinks up any other arguments I grab my knife from the ground – strange, I hadn't even noticed that I'd dropped it – and sprint over to where Kelby is fighting the wolf.

I launch myself straight against its side, but I make absolutely no impact against it. I slash at its skin with my knife, but it doesn't cut deep enough – the flesh feels springy and rubbery. _That's cheating, _I think in annoyance.

"Flint, watch out!" Kelby yells at me and I lurch backwards as it snaps at me.

"You're not getting her again, _doggie," _Sasha suddenly snaps from behind me and she pushes past me. Somehow, she manages to get her arms locked around its neck, and it yaps wildly as she clings on, trying to force it to the ground.

I can see from the set of her jaw that's it's painful – I'd almost forgotten about her wrist.

I hack again at its side with my knife, but the blade simply bounces off its skin, barely even leaving a mark.

"Does your knife cut it?" Kelby yells at me in panic, her eyes shining in horror as I shake my head.

"What do you mean?" Sasha spits out as she hangs onto it desperately, "you can't cut it?"

"No, its skin is really thick – my blade just bounces off it," I tell her quickly, watching her flushed cheeks in alarm – she can't hold on much longer.

Sasha's eyes flicker between the two of us, and then her eyes widen in horror, "watch out-"

She's cut off as the wolf finally squirms free from her arms and throws itself through the air. Its dark eyes hold me in place for a moment and then pain blooms across my chest as it collides into me.

I shriek as the agony washes over me, and collapse under its weight, falling to the ground with a thud that knocks the air clean out of my lungs. I lay there gasping for a moment before I notice that the wolf has stiffened on top of me.

"Flint," I hear panicked yells that seem disconcertingly far away from me.

I blink rapidly, trying to hold myself together, because I feel like I'm floating.

"You killed it," Sasha suddenly announces, a laugh in her voice. "Did you have your knife out in front of you?"

Did I? I can't remember... I'm having difficulty concentrating on anything but the pain in my chest. It's making each breath difficult.

Though I guess the weight of the wolf isn't helping either.

I hear a muffled conversation and then the weight is suddenly lifted off of me. I watch as the two of the heave the wolf off to the side and then Sasha smirks down at it triumphantly for a moment. "You hero, Flint, we were doomed before you did-" then she spins back round to look at me and the words die in her throat, cut off with a single choking sound.

She stares at me in horror. I try to look down, to see if it's really that bad, but my head feels heavy and I can't quite manage to life it up enough. Sasha opens her mouth and looses a string of obscenities that would make Opal cringe; swearing is her pet peeve.

Kelby glances up, "Sasha, what-" and then her eyes land on me as well and she falls silent.

"You're not exactly reassuring me," I try to joke, but my voice comes out in a hoarse whisper that I can barely even hear myself.

Kelby crosses the clearing and crouches down beside me, her green eyes meeting my own and she smiles at me gently. "I'm in trouble, right?"

"I'm so sorry Flint," she whispers, and I can see the water shimmering in her eyes, "I don't think there's anything we can do."

I shut my eyes so I don't have to look at her anyway – every breath I take sends a brutal pain washing over my body. I didn't need her to tell her that I was doomed.

But even still, I don't want to watch her.

"There's always something we can do," Sasha's voice sounds furiously from the other side of me, and I jerk my eyelids back open to find her glaring down at me. "You don't just give up." Then she stands up and paces manically back and forth.

"Sasha," I try to say it loudly enough so she'll hear me, but the word doesn't quite make it past my lips.

Dying isn't quite as dramatic as I thought it was going to be; I just feel quite floaty.

"Sasha," Kelby says tightly from my side and Sasha looks over at us.

"What?" she snaps, not quite looking me in the eyes as she watches us.

"Stop it, just come and sit down," she says softly.

But Sasha shakes her head, "what? We just sit around her deathbed? I can't just watch her die," then she turns to me, narrowing her eyebrows at me, "you can't die Flint. Panem knows you're not a quitter, so please don't start now."

I watch her in confusion – this isn't the Sasha I know... I shake my head, trying to force myself to concentrate.

But that's easier said than done when I can barely even think through the pain.

Suddenly Sasha crosses back over and kneels down beside me, "you can't die, Flint, please."

"I don't think I have much of a choice," I whisper, my voice sounding scarily faint even to my own ears. I try to laugh but I just end up coughing instead.

Something wet lands on my forehead, and I glance up to see tears spilling over Kelby's cheeks. "Sorry," she whispers softly, wiping them away.

I'm scared. I reach out desperately with my hands and immediately feel a warm hand wrap around my strangely cold one. Kelby smiles down at me.

I keep my other one extended until finally Sasha grasps it tightly; she still won't meet my eyes.

"What do you think happens next?" I whisper. My mother had always used to tell me that you go to paradise when you die; somewhere beautiful and peaceful. But after the things I've seen in these Hunger Games I'm having trouble believing that paradise could possibly exist.

I wonder if that's where my mother is now; paradise. Or does everything just go blank, and that's the end?

I shake my head – I've spent my whole life believing in beauty and I don't plan on stopping now.

"I think you go somewhere happy," Kelby tells me gently, but I can tell from her tone that she doesn't believe it anymore than I do.

I don't want to spend my last few moments lying to myself. "You'll be safe," Sasha mutters from my other side, "you won't have to worry about the arena anymore."

I nod – strangely, her words help me more than Kelby's, because she's right. Even if there is nothing else, at least I won't have to spend a moment longer in this awful place, fighting other children for no reason other than we were told by the Capitol that we have to.

I'm starting to lose a hold on myself, and I tighten my grip on their hands. "Promise me that one of you will win?" I whisper.

I see Sasha nod determinedly, her eyes shining fiercely as she watches me. I turn towards Kelby; she nods her agreement as well, but she seems uncertain. I shut my eyes, both of them deserve to make it out of here.

They're the first people apart from Garnet and Opal who have really shown me any kindness. And I guess that dying isn't so hard when I at least know that one of them still has a chance to live.

Knowing this, I let myself go, hoping that my mother was right and that there is something more.

A cannon sounds.

* * *

I am so sorry that it's taken my so long to update, especially after the ending of the last chapter! You can blame the start of exam season... :( Updates aren't going to be very frequent again until the end of June really, but I'll do my best.

**Answer: **After The Storm, by Mumford and Sons.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from?_There's a dreamy world up there, dear friends in higher places, carry me away from here, travel light let the sun eclipse you, 'cause your flight is about to leave, and there's more to this brave adventure, than you'd ever believe._


	37. Messages To The Capitol

_Day Five_

**Misha Rolansky, District 10.**

_You're a failure – a miserable failure._

I shake my head desperately, longing to clamp my hands over my ears so I won't have to listen to those harsh words any longer. But even in my confused state of mind, I can understand that won't help anything – the voice isn't coming from outside of my head.

I clench my jaw and stare out into the darkness. Waiting for _his _voice to come again is agonisingly painful, but I know that it's bound to happen again, just as it has every night so far.

_Pathetic – you can't do anything right. You can't even take care of yourself, let alone Lena._

I shut my eyes, "I can take care of her – I can look after her," I whisper desperately, needing someone to confirm what, at the back of my mind, I know isn't true. Because the voice is right – I can't look after myself. I'm covered in scratches, and bruises. My shoulder still throbs from that knife wound, and I can't quite remember when I last had anything to eat.

I force myself to keep moving, stumbling forward as though I have a plan, as though I actually have somewhere to go.

But every step I take sends my mind reeling back to last night – to that girl that had stared at me with terrified eyes and begged me to kill her quickly. It hadn't even been hard that time – I had simply clenched my muscles, and then she was gone.

I'm glad that my dad is dead – that he doesn't have to watch and see what kind of person I have become. I'm glad that my mother will hopefully be too preoccupied by her duties to spend time watching the television. I'm glad that Lena is too young to watch me on the screen – or, if she is sitting back home with her eyes trained on me, she won't understand what she's seeing. I'll tell her that it was all just part of a game – that none of this is real.

That's what I'll tell myself as well, anything to make it easier to sleep at night. Because now, whenever I close my eyes I see my arrow thud into the body of that little boy at the Cornucopia. I see my knife slash against the neck of the girl. I feel the bones in her neck crack against my arm. And if I were anywhere else but here then I would scream at the sky, and never stop; hating myself for what I have become.

But what else could I have done? I try and tell myself that it's justified – that if I hadn't killed them, then they would have killed me. But I know that isn't really true – I had seen the fear in their eyes. If I had just let them go, then they would have left me alone. Perhaps someone else would have killed them and then I wouldn't have this guilt weighing down across my shoulders.

Then again, maybe they would still be alive, and I would still be three tributes further away from making it back home.

I press a weary hand against my eyes and keep trudging forwards. I won't try and pretend to myself that what I did was right – because my parents brought me up to know right from wrong, and taking someone else's life is never excusable – but I know that I couldn't have done anything else.

_No, because you're a disgusting excuse for a human being._

I stiffen as the words reverberate through me. "Please, stop it," I beg, clenching my fists and hating the poisonous voice that occupies my mind. How can I even think when it's constantly mocking me? Constantly telling me that I'm not good enough to make it out of here.

My head jerks up as I suddenly come to my senses, and realise that branches are no longer whipping against my cheeks and stinging my skin, that my bare feet are no longer taking squelching footsteps in the mulch of mud and leaves. I've come to the edge of the forest. A wide expanse of lawn stretches out ahead of me, and just vaguely visible in the distance is the hulking shape of the castle.

And the Cornucopia stands in front of that – my eyes blur as I think back to the opening moments of the Games. To the death and pain that had filled this area, to the death and pain that I had helped to cause.

I tighten my hand around my bow, and for a moment consider drawing an arrow from the quiver strapped across my back, but I can't spot any tributes around the Cornucopia. Besides, I have my knife if anyone does turn up.

As I make my way across the clearing, I begin to notice how dark my surroundings are and my stomach tightens in fear as I remember what the night brings along with it. The voice of my father – the boy who had shown me what I've become. Though that whole night is still blurry whenever I try to cast my mind back to it, I can still remember the twisted expression on my face. Or on the face of the thing that was actually me.

I feel my stomach begin to curdle as I picture myself as he had shown me – blood covering my skin, a wild glare in my eyes, and I glance down at my arm now, towards the long-since obliterated mark on my skin. I long to scratch at it again, but as my hands jerks towards it I snatch it back. I can't wound myself – it would take away whatever chance I currently have of winning this thing.

_You have no chance – you've been a loser all your life and that won't stop now._

"I hate you," I snarl viciously as I reach the Cornucopia, "Why won't you just LEAVE ME ALONE?" I shriek the last words, falling to my knees amidst the sea of scattered supplies and flinging a packet of something furiously away from me. It bounces off the edge of the golden horn, sending a gong-like noise singing across the arena.

Then I hear something else – a squeal. But what does that mean - is it an animal, or another tribute? I'm instantly back on my feet, my eyes narrowed in anger and searching the area around me. It hadn't been loud, so it must have come from somewhere near me.

A bruised face appears round the edge of the Cornucopia and the tribute screams loudly, piercingly. It makes me want to clamp my hands against my ears, or run my blade across the fragile skin of her throat. I can't get close enough to her to do that though, because she starts hurling supplies at me, her dark hair whipping furiously as she throws them.

"DON'T COME NEAR ME YOU MONSTER!" she shrieks, throwing a sack of apples which then spill out across the camp.

Monster.

_Monster – she's right. You're a disgusting, twisted excuse for a hum-_

"Make it stop," I beg desperately, my knees threatening to give way beneath me once more. I can't be a monster – I had to kill the other tributes. I had to kill them so that I could live.

I feel the telltale sign of breath against the back of my neck, and my whole body tenses as utter terror seeps through me

She throws another packet at me; this time it hits me square in the forehead, but I barely even notice as it lands on the ground in front of me. And then I hear footsteps as she darts away from me, heading towards the edge of the forest.

I almost reach for my bow to send an arrow flying after her as she sprints across the lawn, but my hands are shaking too badly and what difference does it make if she lives or dies? She's such a small tribute that someone is bound to kill her sooner rather than later. But I promise myself that if I ever see her again, then she's dead. Dead for the things she threw at me, and dead for that word she had used.

If only I couldn't feel that dread of anticipation coursing through my body, then maybe I could take her out right now, to punish her for what she had done. But my mind won't let my concentrate on anything but the imminent threat of the voices and my breath comes in harsh gasps.

"Please," I whisper, the words tearing harshly from my throat, "please don't do it again." But I feel the breath again – on my cheek this time, and my jaw clenches in fury at the cruelty of the Capitol. Isn't it bad enough that they've thrown us into this place? But now they have to torture us, all for the sake of _entertainment. _I think of them all grouped around their television screens now - gossiping about who their favourite tribute is, and who they predict will be the next one to die. But I know the reality of the Capitol citizens - they're not as _civilised _as they make themselves out to be. They rip out people's tongues, and force children to fight to the death. And I can't stand the fact that they'll be watching me right now - mocking me probably.

"JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" I shriek into the sky, hoping that the Capitol know that I'm speaking directly to them, that these words are aimed at them.

Not that any of them will care.

**Harrow Followill, District 12**.

"RIVKA!" I call, her name tearing from my throat. It's possibly a mistake to be lumbering around shouting like this, but my mind has gone completely blank and I don't know what else to do to find them. "OLIVE!" There's still no reply; the woods are completely silent around me, and they have been ever since that cannon a few hours ago.

It had sounded just after I had let Aaron go. Even now I still can't work out exactly why I had done it. I suppose it was mostly due to the fact that I had seen how Olive reacted after she had killed Yari, how much it had hurt her, even when she tried to pretend as though she didn't care. I've spent most of my life teaching myself how to heal people, not wound them.

I chew on my lip, hoping desperately that the cannon wasn't for her death, or for Rivka's. It's already getting dark, so I'm guessing that the anthem will sound soon, and then I'll know for sure. I can't help but hope that it won't be Aaron either, because then that would mean that I actually had killed him.

I walk for a few more minutes, calling their names as loudly as I can, but silence is the only response I receive.

Darkness begins to settle around me, and I know that I'll soon have to stop. Just as I'm glancing around me I hear something in the distance; it sounds like a scream, or something. My pulse quickens in my neck and my hand tightens around the knife at my belt.

_Should I go and see what it is? _Because what if it's Olive and Rivka, and they're in trouble? But then what if I just end up going to the aid of some tribute who'll kill me the moment that I've helped them?

But my curious side wins out and I beginning tramping through the trees, winding my way between the roots and vines, and trying to avoid tripping over my own feet as the undergrowth gets thicker and thicker.

As I get closer, I hear the noise again, and that's when I realise that it isn't a scream at all, it's someone crying. Someone sobbing actually. Those horrible chest shaking sobs that are the sound of someone grieving. I bite my lip and move closer towards this tribute.

I step around the side of the tree trunk, and the I spot them; it's the girl with ginger hair and that beautiful girl from District 4; the one who had try several times to flirt with me during training. She doesn't look quite as pretty now, with puffy eyes and blotchy red skin. The other girl simply sits beside her, her eyes focused on something I doubt is actually there.

I steady myself against the edge of the tree trunk, trying to remember who the third member of their alliance, because undoubtedly, that's who has died. I struggle for moment, and then my memory uncovers an image of a small girl with dark hair, conducting her own interview and singing to the crowd.

She was a little strange, sure, but she was just an innocent, harmless girl. I bite my lip as I try to think of her in training, and remember her with a constant smile on her face. No wonder these two are so affected by her death – she must have kept their spirits up in this place.

I stand there for a moment, feeling guilty for intruding upon their grief. Just as I've made my mind up to leave before they notice me, a parachute suddenly drops from the trees overhead and lands at my feet.

I should just take it and leave, but surely it can't be a coincidence that it has arrived just as I'm standing here watching them? I bend down, being careful not to make too much noise and untie the strings. I slide the lid off the box and the smell of something warm hits my nose. I breath in deeply, distracted for a moment.

Then I spot something – resting to the side of a white bowl are three forks. I glance back towards the two of them. What is this gift supposed to be telling me to do? Forget about Rivka and Olive, and ally with them instead? Surely my mentors know that I won't do that? But maybe I'm supposed to just stay here for one night? Perhaps Olive and Rivka are too far away for me to reach, and there's always safety in numbers in this place. I had been planning to stop soon anyway, so what difference will it make if I stay with them?

If they'll let me, I suppose. They might just kill me on sight. But the two of them appear to broken to be doing any fighting any time soon. I steel myself and take a step out from behind the trunk. I step straight onto a twig, snapping it clean in half and their heads jerk upright at the sound.

The girl with orange hair begins climbing tiredly to her feet, but the other one doesn't move. "What's the point?" she mutters tiredly, "I can't be bothered to keep fighting. Kill me if you want; Flint seemed happier when she knew she was dying, and she'd be free from this place."

"I wasn't planning on killing you," I say, faltering over my words as I realise that I have no idea how to explain myself to them.

"What's in the box?" the other girl asks, she's obviously picked up on the smell.

"Food; I think it's for you as well," I reply, opening the box and revealing the three forks nestled inside.

She watches me warily for a moment, "why?"

How can I answer that when I barely know myself? Perhaps I've gotten completely the wrong end of the stick, and this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing at all. Still, I'm here now, and the two of them don't look ready to kill me at any point soon.

But guilt flares in my chest as I think of Rivka and Olive; I can only hope that they're somewhere together, and not injured. I bite my lip as I think of Rivka's arm and silence settles across the forest as the two of the watch me.

"Are you sitting, or not?" she dark haired girl finally demands.

I shrug, "I guess so." I perch myself down awkwardly on a tree root and tap my fingers against the lid of the box. "I'm Harrow," I mutter.

The girl with dark hair casts me a derisive look, "so, what happens now? You eat with us, and then in the morning you just leave, and next time we meet we all try to kill each other?" she demands bitterly.

"Sash," the other one hisses, "I'm Kelby," she jerks her head towards the other girl, "Sasha."

I nod in response, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. I've never been great at making conversation with strangers – injured strangers I can deal with, but not ones who simply expect me to talk to them.

"I can leave," I suddenly say, already rising to my feet as I speak.

"I don't think so," Sasha snaps, "if that food is for us as well, then you can at least stay long enough for us to eat it with you."

For some reason this draws a smile from me and I push the box across the ground towards them. They both watch it warily for a moment, and this causes my smile to widen. I pull it back towards myself, and ease the lid off the bowl. It's some kind of stew, I think. It certainly smells enticing, and it's all I can do to stop myself from drooling at the scent. I haven't had a warm meal since we entered the arena – I never would have thought that it would be possibly to miss hot food like this.

I don't miss the way that Sasha and Kelby glance towards the bowl as the smell begins to fill the clearing. I pick up one of the forks and dig it into the stew, spearing a piece of meat. I pop it into my mouth and have to restrain from sighing in pleasure as the taste floods my mouth.

This is clearly too much for Kelby – just as I had intended. I've seen plenty of sick people turn their noises up at food before, and all it takes is me taking a bite from their bowl and making contented noises for them to immediately demand that I hand the food over.

She crouches down next to me and selects one of the forks from the box before taking her own mouthful.

"Why didn't you just keep it all for yourself?" Sasha demands, still refusing to move from her tree stump.

"I think I was supposed to share it with you," I mutter in response, knowing that it isn't an answer. But surely she has to understand that I couldn't just turn away from the two of them when they were so clearly upset like that, knowing that a hot meal might go a small way towards making them feel better.

I sigh – this is what my mentors had warned me about. Don't get too soft in that arena – those other tributes aren't your friends, they're your enemies. And I've done exactly what they had told me not to do – seen them as real people rather than simply obstacles standing in between me and my home.

Well, I suppose I've already demonstrated my soft side this evening by letting Aaron go. I bet they were fuming at the television when they saw that.

Still, they sent me this food, and it surely was no coincidence that they had sent it to me just as I had seen the two girls through the trees. I can't help but wonder what they had wanted me to do though – I simply assumed that they sent it to me to ensure that I didn't spend the night alone, putting myself in a weaker position. But perhaps the food was supposed to be a trap – a way of convincing them that I am trustworthy.

I shake my head – it doesn't matter what my mentors may have intended by this sponsor gift. I can't kill them – not now, anymore than I could kill Aaron when I'd had the chance.

Just as I spot Kelby clearly trying to waft the smell in Sasha's direction, the anthem suddenly booms loudly, and the faces of the two girls drop. I tense up, sitting anxiously. I only heard one cannon, but that doesn't mean that I didn't miss another one. I had been slightly preoccupied while fighting Aaron – I doubt I would have heard if one had sounded then. And it seems so unlikely that all three of us could have survived that attack of that flame beasty thing.

I dig my nails into my palm, and raise my head to look at the faces of those fallen tributes. The first picture to appear is that of the blonde haired girl from District 1. Olive had woken me up last night to tell me about a cannon she had heard, so I assume that it signified her death. And then it's the face of the strange girl from District 7. I hear a sharp intake of breath and watch as a tear begins to roll slowly down Kelby's cheek.

"How did she die?" I ask gruffly; not knowing quite how to sympathise with these two. I know that I've experienced death before now – I sometimes still wake at night, haunted by images of my mother's face in front of my eyes. I've watched people die on the table in front of me, bloody wounds or infected burns extinguishing the life from their eyes. But this is different – because they had to watch their friend die. And they know that another one, or even both of them, will have to die before this thing is over.

"We were attacked," Sasha says dully, "by this huge dog thing. She killed it, but it ripped-" she falters, and stops, her eyes trained determinedly on the ground.

"It was a wolf," Kelby says from beside me, "I used to see them during the rebellion – in the woods around District 5. I think the Capitol put them there to make sure no one would stray too far from the District."

I nod – I remember the Capitol had used that same tactic on us during the rebellion. We had been shown pictures of the wolves in school, and warned fiercely what would happen to us if we wandered out into the woods. I shudder at the thought that one of those hulking great beasts had killed that poor girl.

"She seemed like a good person," I say, at a loss of what else to say.

Kelby nods, but Sasha looks across at me with furious eyes, "she _was _a good person. Probably the best person I've ever met – and she didn't deserve to die that way." I don't miss the way she glares up at the sky, and I know that she's not really angry with me, but with the Capitol. For putting us all in this awful situation.

"All you can do is try to keep her memory alive," I reply gently, and Kelby nods at me.

"I don't want her to be remembered as a tribute in the first ever Hunger Games – because that wasn't what she was," she says firmly, her jaw clenching slightly as she speaks. "She was so much more than just another tribute."

"Shut up," Sasha snaps from the other side of the clearing. She groans, and buries her head in her hands, "I wasn't supposed to care about anyone else in here. I _hate _her – I hate her for getting under my skin like that."

I just shake my head, "you don't hate _her," _I remind her gently, and she glances up at me, catching my eyes.

"Why is this happening to us?" she demands angrily. Then she glares at me. "And don't pretend like you know me – as though you understand how I'm feeling." She slides a knife out of her belt, a sad expression on her face as she glances down at it. "Your own allies obviously mean fuck all to you," she yells at me, "or else you wouldn't be here with us. You'd be doing your best to find them."

And I realise that she's right – that I shouldn't have paid any attention to the sign that my mentors had given me. Olive and Rivka _mean _something to me, even though they probably shouldn't, because at least two of us are going to die in this death-ridden place, and there's absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. But they could be out there somewhere, dying right as I sit here and console two people who aren't my allies. They need me – and I guess, if I really have to admit it to myself, I need them too, because they keep me feeling sane in this place where it would be so easy to lose my mind.

As a trainee healer I've always read that you have to put yourself before the patient – don't get yourself into a dangerous situation. Sometimes you have to be selfish. But I don't want to put myself before the pair of them, because they're both so inherently good that they deserve to live, and I don't want to survive in a world knowing that I didn't do everything within my power to ensure that they kept breathing.

I would give up my life for them, in a heartbeat. Not something I should probably be thinking in the Hunger Games, but I've already learned today that I can't kill anyone. So it's simple really, for me anyway – I can't make it to the end if I am a coward like that; scared of the consequences of taking someone else's life. But they're brave – either of them could make it out of here alive. They just need a bit of help, and that's something I've spent my whole life giving to other people.

I push myself upright, abandoning my fork and the bowl onto the forest floor. I have no business filling my stomach with warm food while my allies sit out there in the cold night.

But as I walk away from them back into the dark depths of the forest, I know that I have something to thank this pair of tributes for. They made me understand what my part in these Hunger Games really is - I'm not here to kill other tributes to win, and lose myself in the process. I'm here to send a message to the Capitol that they can't cause me to lose the sense of who I truly am. And I'll happily die in this place if I can just tell myself that I stayed true to who I really am, and kept one of my friends alive in the process.

* * *

Gah, yet again I have to apologise for the late update, but revision has really been getting on top of me lately...

Oh, and I get that there will be some people who read this and think that the fact that Harrow, Kelby and Sasha didn't fight is slightly implausible - but in my mind, because these are the first Hunger Games I imagine the tributes as a lot more naive and trusting than the later ones. I hope that makes sense ;)

Only five more reviews until we make 200 - I have faith in you guys to manage it :D

**Answer: **To The Sky, by Owl City

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _They will not force us, and they will stop degrading us, and they will not control us, we will be victorious, so come on._


	38. Monsters I

_Day Six_

**Samura Nightshade, District 2.**

I tilt my head upwards, facing the window as the gentle orange glow of the sun rises into view. It warms my face, and the sensation tingles along my limbs, bringing an almost-smile to my face. But I quickly pinch my lips together, and turn my head away. Nothing in this place should make me want to smile – I don't even know if the sun is real, or just another one of their tricks.

I shift my gaze across to Griffin instead, watching his hands for a moment as they twist the piece of string into strange shapes. _Practicing snares,_ he told me when I had first asked what he was doing. I don't particularly see the point, not when we've got all this food anyway. And it's not as though string makes a particularly effective snare.

I think he needs something to distract himself with though, so I don't question him. He's been quiet ever since they projected the face of that girl into the sky last night. I don't understand why it affected him so badly, but he's Griffin – his mind works in strange ways that I can't even begin to comprehend. He probably just feels sympathy for a girl who was killed, an almost alien concept to me.

My eyes travel up from his deft fingers and I watch his eyes instead. They're narrowed in concentration rather than bright with amusement as they usually are. For a moment, I feel a strange pang of sorrow wash over me. I don't want this place to break Griffin. Besides, as much as I might not want to admit this, even to myself, I think I would have lost myself in here a long time ago if it wasn't for his laughter.

His eyes suddenly jerk towards me, as though he senses he's being watched, and I quickly drop my gaze.

But he doesn't say anything, and I'm left gritting my teeth in frustration and considering how stupid I must look on camera. Like one of those stupid love girls who hang around as we leave peacekeeper training, nudging each other and pointing at the boys. They always used to make me roll my eyes in derision – I had felt like I was above their stupidity.

But now?

Now I can't feel so high and mighty, because I can't stay trapped in this room with him without wanting to stare at him.

I force myself upright – I can't bear it any longer. I need to be away from him; just for a few moments. Just for enough time to convince myself that I'm being stupid. He glances up at me, "what are you doing?"

I think quickly – I can hardly tell him the truth, because that would just bring on another bout of teasing. "Re-filling the water bottles," I mutter, barely even able to meet his eyes. There's a tap just down the other end of the corridor; we discovered it yesterday when we had been on our way outside to find some.

It does make me feel better to know that we don't have to leave our sanctuary, but I'm honestly not sure how much longer I can stand being cooped up in one room like this.

He stands to his feet, dropping the piece of string to the floor. "I'll come with you," he says brightly, crossing to the room and grabbing the canteen.

I bite my lip, "no – you should stay here and guard the stuff."

He raises an eyebrow at me, "we have a door for a reason," he says with a laugh, and crosses over to it.

"It's fine, Griffin. I don't think anything is going to happen to me between here, and ten steps down the hallway," I retort, beginning to grow impatient. I've had to be independent all my life – I certainly don't need someone else shadowing every move I make in order to protect me.

"This is the Hunger Games," is his reply and he slides the door open. And I know what he's thinking – I doubt that we've been particularly entertaining, trapped in here for the past day. We're probably boring the Capitol – _what a pity._

"Maybe I don't want you following me everywhere," I snap at him, my anger finally getting the better of me. "Maybe I want five minutes to myself."

The moment that I've flung the words as him in a haze of frustration, I find myself regretting it. His eyes fill with hurt and guilt squeezes my chest so tightly that I almost lose the ability to breathe. He shrugs, "your choice," he mutters.

It's in that moment that I finally realise that I care far too much about Griffin than I actually should. Normally I get a pang of satisfaction knowing that I've hurt someone – in training we're taught that means that you have power over someone else. But I don't want power over Griffin. I don't ever want to see that look in his eyes again, especially not knowing that I caused it to appear.

"Griffin?" I mutter, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I hate apologising – it's never been in my nature. But the memory of the sadness in his eyes forces me to swallow my pride, and I whisper the words so quietly that for a moment I'm not sure that he even heard me. "I'm sorry."

The hurt is gone so instantly that for a second I wonder if I had only imagined it or, worse, if he had been pretending in order to illicit this reaction from me. But the grin that breaks out across his face calms me down – while it might be unfathomable for me to be able to forgive someone that quickly, or even at all, this is just his nature.

He practically bounds out into the corridor in front of me and I roll my eyes at his back, but I can't stop the smile that spills over my lips at the same time. "You actually do feel, don't you?" He asks with a smirk," even if you might pretend that you don't most of the time."

I don't respond; I don't know how to. But he nudges my hip with his elbow and my smile widens. I want so badly to hate him for making me feel this way, but I think it's impossible to hate someone like him.

I cross to the tap and twist it firmly, sending a spray of water cascading down onto the floor. I fill my hands with water before I yank the bottle from his hands and stick it under the spray. We stand there awkwardly for a moment and then Griffin sticks his finger into the water and flicks several droplets towards me.

I glare at him, screwing the lid back on and fully intending to get him back for that. _Bad move, Griffin, _I think. But then I see him stiffen and he glances nervously at the wall, his hand shifting slightly to the knife that he insists on wearing at his belt, even though I'm not sure that he's even capable of using it.

"What?" I demand, my fingers clutching at my own knife. I wish that I'd thought to bring my mace when we left the room.

"Don't you hear it?" he replies, his eyes reeling wildly. I shut my eyes and try to focus. That's when I hear it too – a faint scraping coming from somewhere _inside _of the wall. I panic slightly at the eerie sound and begin backing down the corridor, my heart racing in my chest. Stupid, stupid, _stupid. _Why did I let myself believe, even for a single moment that we could be safe anywhere in this place?

Then the metal drain on the floor beneath the tap begins to rotate. I catch sight of two yellow eyes and then a scream burns its way along my throat and I almost trip backwards over my own feet. Griffin grabs at my arm, keeping me steady. "Your mace?" he asks through clenched teeth.

I shake my head, brutal stupidity sweeping over my body. "You have to go-" his words are cut off at the metal drain falls to the floor with a clink and a long, slithering shape begins to slide its way out of the hole. I catch sight of two huge fangs before it lunges towards me. I hurl myself forwards, knocking Griffin to the ground as I fall. We slide a few metres along the floor and then I'm scrabbling desperately upright, keeping a tight grip on his arm as I do so.

"RUN!" I hear his hoarse yell in my ears but I snap my fingers around his wrist, dragging him with me.

I hear a violent _hissing _from behind me, and I can't help myself – twisting my head to see exactly what it is. More of it is still spilling from the drain and I shriek in horror as I identify the creature. "Snake," I snap – remembering the pictures in textbooks back in school. Snakes – creatures that should be avoided in all circumstances – because you never know when one might be poisonous.

My eyes linger on its ferocious fangs for a moment, and then I feel the pressure of Griffin's hand in mine and he forces me away, pulling my along the hallway. Suddenly, shockingly, he shoves me away from him and I bang into something cold and metallic. A picture of a banana appears in front of my eyes. The door.

I twist round in time to see Griffin pulling his knife from his belt with a look of grim determination of his face. The snake considers him for a moment and then begins to slither its way across the floor towards him. "GRIFFIN!" I shriek, the words tearing from my throat.

"Get the mace," he yells, "we don't have a chance otherwise."

I shake my head desperately, drawing out my own knife and holding it steadily. I take a step towards him, but the fury in my eyes holds me back. "Don't you dare," he snaps. "MACE. NOW."

I yelp the word "Shadow" into the grill and I almost scream with impatience as the door slowly slides open in front of me. I dive into the gap just in time to hear the snake slide past me. There's a yell and thud behind me. _Griffin. _

My eyes scan the room quickly, and desperation rises in my chest as I try to remember where I put the mace. There's another vicious hissing sound from behind me and I stomp my foot in frustration as I don't spot the mace.

_It's no use , _I decide and I dash to the rucksack, tipping it upside down and spilling its contents across the ground. I fling it to the side and then fall flat on my stomach, my eyes roaming the dark depths under the table.

"Where the hell are you?" I growl. _Where, where, where?_

I pick up piles of sleeping bags and search desperately underneath them. Then I yelp and draw my finger back as something pointy jabs into the end of it. _Mace._

I chuck the sleeping bag covering it into the air and my fingers close tightly around the handle. A grin of triumph erupts across my face, but then I hear a low moan from the corridor.

I don't even think – I'm beyond that now. I race to the door and bring my mace down hard on the first part of the snake I see. I raise my head as blood splatters across the wall and the snake twists its head around to glare at me. I don't see Griffin – why don't I see Griffin?

_There wasn't a cannon, _I tell myself firmly, and raise my mace once more in challenge.

"Come on then, you ugly beast," I hiss, mimicking its own voice. Its head turns away from, as if contemplating something behind it. If I can't see him then it must mean that he's on the ground. What if-

_No cannon._

I swing the mace against its body once more, making sure to hit the same spot again. A great shudder ripples along its disgusting body, and it seems to make a decision, twisting its head towards me.

"That's right," I mutter, "come on then. COME ON!"

But then the rest of its body slips past me, almost knocking me off my feet at the speed with which it moves. "What are you doing?"

It twists, flailing – it's a gruesome sight as it packs its body into the width of the corridor, and then I realise, with horror, what it's trying to do.

It wraps its tail slowly around Griffin's neck. I shriek his name as I see the blood soaking through his jacket, staining the sleeve. He spots me and for a moment I think he's trying to say something but then the tail tightens and his hands drop, trying desperately to wrench the thing off him.

I stand there for a moment, not understanding what's happening. It's choking him – trying to kill him. _Why can't I move? Why can't I-_

With a fierce yell I charge down the corridor towards the snake, raising my mace above my head. Out of the corner of my eye I vaguely register Griffin's purple lips as I race towards it and then i swing it brutally against its face.

It narrows its eyes at me, and lunges forwards, baring its fangs at me.

Griffin coughs.

I swing my mace again, feeling the blood land on my face. But what does it matter?

I swing it again, and again. I ignore its fangs, ignore its yellow eyes – so full of fury. The snake's body spasms, but it still doesn't let go of him. I shriek again and this time I shove my mace into its mouth; my arms jar as it connects with the roof of the mouth and it makes a horrible gargling noise. It tries to snap at me again but that only wedges the mace deeper into its head and a horrible wail erupts from it.

I shudder and dart to Griffin. _No cannon, no cannon._

I can feel its grip slacken and I pull at the tail, hooking my fingers underneath it. There's a thud behind me, sending out ripples which shake the ground the beneath my feet. The tail drops away from his neck and Griffin drops to the floor as it releases him.

I can still feeling his chest moving faintly and I drag him away from the body as gently as I can. My pulse raises in my throat and I stare at Griffin's face; willing him to move, to open his eyes.

"You're not going to die," I tell him, my fingers trembling as I touch the bruises forming on his neck, "who's going to annoy me if you die?"

I drop my hand, pressing it against his chest and I feel his heart beat softly against my palm.

He won't die – not like this. Griffin is too good to die in a place like this, and I'm not going to let it happen.

I stare at his face and then slowly, softly, I bend my lips towards his.

* * *

Gah - I'm useless. I hope everyone saw the message on my profile page, and didn't just think that I had abandoned this story. So, this chapter is short, and unedited, but I felt like I had to get something posted! So if you see any mistakes then please point them out :)

Updates will be a lot quicker now that it's summer.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _You've got to look first before you go, if you wasn't too sure then now you know._


	39. Monsters II

_Day Six_

**Olive Pithy, District 3.**

My hand throbs painfully and I glare at it in annoyance. I never thought that it would be possible to grow this infuriated with an injury, but the pain is so constant that it won't let me focus on anything else. Despite the fact that it's coated in burn medicine and wrapped in bandages, it still _hurts. _

"Are you alright, Ol?" Rivka asks softly from beside me, her voice worryingly faint. I can't work out whether it's because she's missing Harrow, or if she's still weak after the attack yesterday. I could ask, but I'm afraid to know the answer. I can't let anything happen to her, because I won't let her leave me in this place alone.

I can still remember seeing her unconscious form lying next to me as I pulled myself out of the agony filled haze of my injury, and I had begged her to wake up, to not abandon me. Maybe that's a selfish way to think, but I'm beginning to lose track of the rules in this place, because the things that I once knew were wrong and right outside don't seem to matter in the arena. I've seen people die; I killed someone myself – an innocent child, and I feel ashamed that the grief drained so quickly from my mind. Now, I'm more focused on keeping myself and Rivka alive. And if that means that I have to kill someone else? I shake my head, pulling myself out of these thoughts, because I'm afraid of the answer glinting in the recesses of my mind.

"I'm fine," I tell Rivka, "you?"

She just shrugs, and we continue walking through the forest. I wish Harrow were here because we're both feeling the lack of his presence. I felt much safer when he was here, and he would have known what to do with my hand. As it is, I just have to hope that it doesn't get infected and try to ignore the pain.

"We'll find him," she suddenly says determinedly from beside me.

"Of course we'll find him," I reply, not pointing out the obvious – that we've been looking for him for almost a whole day now and we haven't come across a single trace of him. Not that we'd know if we found a trace of him anyway, I suppose, it's not as though either of us were hunters before the Games started. I feel so out of place in these wooded surroundings sometimes – there is a sparse row of trees around the outskirts of District 3, but I never had much reason to go there.

Suddenly Rivka grabs my arm and I start violently, assuming she's seen another tribute. "What?" I hiss, my voice rising in panic and my head reeling around wildly.

She shakes her head, "It's not anything dangerous," she says with a gentle smile, and then points her finger through the trees. I squint, but there doesn't seem to be anything there.

"It's just green," I say, already turning away in disinterest.

"Yes, but it isn't trees. Look closely – it seems like it's a lawn of some kind."

I look again, and finally understand what she's saying. The colour is the green of grass, which must mean that we've reached the lawn where we started the Games. Which is frustrating seeing as we had been trying to keep that behind us – we had reckoned that Harrow would keep to the forest as well, so that would give us more of a chance of finding him.

"My sense of direction must be even worse than I thought," I complain under my breath. "What now? I really don't want to walk back in the direction we've just come from; that would be such a waste of a day."

Rivka shakes her head again, "I don't think that it's _that _lawn. Come on Jabber; I though memory was supposed to be your specialty. It doesn't look the same to me."

"It's a lawn, don't they all look the same?"

"It's bigger," she says with a laugh. I can't help but grin back – it's the first time that either of us has smiled since yesterday. "Let's go have a look. I'm getting so fed up of trees."

I'm not so sure; I mean, there is a reason why we were avoiding the other lawn. "Won't we be too exposed?" I mutter anxiously.

"We're exposed everywhere in this place," she replies with a shrug, and I think of the cameras watching our every move. It's easy to forget that we're constantly being observed in this place and, once again, I can't help but wonder where the cameras are actually hidden.

I take a step in the direction she pointed, "fine, but only just to see what it is," I tell her firmly.

She grins and darts away ahead of me; I have to work hard not to let myself do the same. Days on end of _trees_ are enough to send a person insane. Everything looks the same, and there's not enough space between the trunks. Perhaps I won't care too much about feeling exposed for a little bit – at least I'll be able to stretch out my arms without brushing against leaves and branches.

I knock them impatiently out of my way with my good hand as I follow Rivka through the trees. I can still hear her footsteps from up ahead of me, though I've lost sight of her. I consider that perhaps that isn't a very good idea, and so I take off running in order to catch up with her.

I burst onto the lawn and the sudden glare of light from the sun forces me to throw my hands up in front of my face. I feel as though we've been living in perpetual twilight ever since we entered the arena, because the trees are too thick to let the light through.

I can see the four sides of the lawn if I twist my head, showing that this isn't the area where we started the Games. How long ago was that now? Time has been passing strangely – sometimes it drags so slowly that I'm almost convinced that it's been months, but yet whole hours seem to slip by without me noticing them. I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the sun shine onto my face, and I think back, trying to remember how many nights I've spent in here.

Suddenly a shriek tears a hole in the peace I've been attempting to create around myself and I jerk my eyes back open in panic. "RIVKA?" She isn't in front of me so I spin around, my fingers already dropping to the knife stuffed into my belt.

My eyes land on her and there's a second where I feel nothing but confusion, but then a shadow falls across the ground and I raise my head.

I can't help the scream that rips from my throat as my eyes land on the creature. I reach forward, and grab Rivka's hand tightly in mine, dragging her away from the spot where she's standing, transfixed by the scaly thing in front of her.

She almost trips over her own feet as I yank her away, but then her eyes seem to clear and they meet mine in terror. "What is that thing?" she yells as we race across to the other side of the grass, our hands still clenched tightly together.

"I don't know," I reply hoarsely, amazed that I've even managed to work out enough moisture in my mouth to get those words out. But it isn't true – there's something about the creature that reminds me of... something. I shake my head; it's not as though I have time to be worrying about whether I do or do not recognise this _thing _right now, I just have to-

I'm moving too quickly to stop myself tripping over the rock, even though I have plenty of time to see it before it sends me sprawling face first onto toe grass. I yell in protest as I land on top of my hand, sending waves of pain along my arm.

"OLIVE!" I can vaguely hear Rivka screaming my name over the pain, "you have to get up. GET UP NOW!" She shrieks the last words and this brings me to my senses. Who cares about a bit of pain? This thing is going to rip us apart if it gets its claws on us.

She bends down, clamping my shoulders tightly in her hands and trying to heave me back to my feet. My body seems oddly uncooperative, and I blearily wonder if that's the pain, or the terror of this hideous beast.

I've almost persuaded myself to clamber back to my feet, when Rivka suddenly throws herself to the ground in front of me. Seconds later there's a roar so loud that I've clasped my good hand against my ear before I realise that this won't make a blind bit of difference. Then I feel a blaze of heat above my back and fire blasts through the spot where Rivka had been standing. It hits the grass which erupts in a haze of heat and smoke.

I scrabble upright, twisting my head to survey the creature for a moment. It snakes its head in my direction, and I quiver under the gaze of its dark eyes. I take the pair of thick fangs protruding from the edges of its mouth and the thick dark scales which coat its reptilian body. Then it shifts its body, and I stiffen in terror, convinced that it's about to send another blast of fire in my direction. My burn throbs – I've had enough of fire for the time being. But it doesn't open its mouth. Instead, something falls down from each side of its body. Wings, I realise, with confusion, and I stare as it raises them towards the sky.

I've seen enough to know that we're in trouble, and I whirl back round to find Rivka raising herself from the ground, a wall of fire crackling behind her. I meet her eyes in terror, "we're trapped," she says desperately.

I nod my head slowly – what else can I do? We have a wall of fire behind us, and a creepy flying lizard waiting behind us. We're completely out of options. There's another roar behind us, and we both throw ourselves back down to the floor, narrowly avoiding another stream of flames which blast above us. I cover my head with my hands, and wait for the noise to stop.

Then I hear another voice from the other side of the lawn; low and terrified, full of desperation. I raise my head for a moment, glancing across at Rivka.

"Who-" my question is cut off as I hear Rivka's name, and then mine. That means that it can only be one person, unless it's someone else trying to lure us into a trap. But I doubt anyone else would want to get involved – would be daft enough to alert a massive muttation to their presence.

"How did he-" I begin, but then I cut myself off again. Maybe he heard the screams, or maybe the Gamemakers did something to push him in this direction. Whatever the answer is, it doesn't matter now. Harrow's probably running right into trouble as we lie here and I refuse to let him get himself killed trying to play the hero.

So I clamber back to my feet and pull Rivka with me, just in time to hear a strange scraping sound emanating from the creature behind me. We spin around and can do nothing but watch as it uses its wings to launch itself into the air. There's a moment where I think that it's made a mistake, because now it isn't blocking our way. But then it sends another blast of fire in our direction and Rivka emits a piercing shriek from beside me and drops to the floor. There's a sizzle and a putrid smell fills my nostrils.

Her leg – I can only stare in horror as I take in the destruction. Her leg is no longer a leg; it's not anything except a lump of blackened flash. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat, and I want to retch, or run away and hide. Anything apart from looking at it.

_No. _"Rivka – get up. We have to move. NOW," I yell, my eyes scanning the surroundings even as I try to lift her back to her feet. She shrieks in pain, shifting her body on the floor and giving no sign that she's registered my words.

Where is Harrow? If he can reach us, then maybe he can help me carry her, and then we can get away from here. He'll patch her up, of course he will – that's his job, and then- A sob catches in my throat and I can feel tears begin to sting at the back of my eyelids.

How can we escape from something that's flying above us? I have no idea where it might strike next. "Rivka? Please," I whisper desperately, watching over my shoulder.

Then I hear him call our names again, and Rivka stirs herself, straightening her arms. She meets my eyes with desperate ones of her own. "Go – you have to get to him," she mutters tightly, and my heart lurches in my chest as I wonder how she's even managing to speak.

"Not without you," I say tightly, as another blast of fire sizzles into the ground less than a metre away from us; I feel the heat scorching my skin and I grab her shoulder desperately.

"Now; if you go now then I can distract him. But it has to be now, because I feel..." she trails off, glancing back at her leg and visibly paling as she does so.

I shake my head, "no," I mutter, "no, I can't. I can't just-"

"GO," she shrieks at me, the words tearing from her throat as she shoves at me. She's so weak that it barely makes an impact, but the message is clear.

"RIVKA! OLIVE!" I can hear Harrow's shouts from behind me, hear his footsteps racing along the ground towards us.

"Don't let him see me, or he'll never leave," she whispers and then she turns her head away from me, and drags her broken body to the left, where the creature hovers in the sky. I notice the thick black collar around its neck, and the chain which keeps it tied to one end of the field. Once we get far enough away, then it can't chase us anymore. We've wandered onto its territory; we just have to leave.

I clamber to my feet, but keep my body low in case it sends another blast of fire in my direction and I turn to Rivka, taking in the sight of her for what I know will be the last time. She meets my eyes; her own full of pain and terror. "Don't forget me," I hear her whisper.

And I just shake my head in response," never." I pull my eyes away from her, and race in Harrow's direction. _Never _will I be able to forget this girl who saved my life, and Harrow's too. Because she's right - he will never leave her side while she's still alive, while he still has a chance of saving her.

I crash straight into his chest, almost flying back to the ground, but he grabs onto my arms and holds me upright. I hear another sizzle from behind me, and I raise my head to meet his eyes. "Where's Rivka?" he demands, "we have to go get here."

I breathe in deeply, steadying myself as I picture her desperate eyes once more. "She's dead," I mutter, "it's too late." I push at him, making him move backwards, but he's shaking his head and glaring at me.

"No; she can't be dead. She can't – I promised myself that I would keep you both alive. She can't be..." he trails off, and watches me, begging me to take back the words I have just uttered. But I can't, because then he'll go back and get blasted with fire along with Rivka, then I'll have to follow him, and then no one will be left to remember her, and _I _promised that I would never forget her. The only way she can be remembered is if one of us survives.

So I shove at him again, forcing him back towards the edge of the field. It might be preoccupied with Rivka at the moment, but how long can that last? "Move!" I yell at him, "do you want her to have died for nothing? MOVE!" But his eyes are glazed over, and he's watching the creature behind me. How long do I have before it turns on us? I won't let it kill him too.

I hook my arm through his, and pull him away with me, dashing to the edge of the field and trying to ignore the noises coming from behind me. I pray that she's already dead – that she didn't suffer for the entertainment of the Capitol. But in my head, as we run, I picture the blazing inferno that I had just esc aped, and I don't know if there's any way she could have died in that place without suffering.

We pass the first tree and I fall to my knees as my strength to save us both evaporates and I retch onto the floor, the bile burning my throat as I press the flats of my palms against my eyes.

"Don't look back," Harrow says stiffly from beside me, and I raise my head, able to imagine the scene from the heat that I can still feel on my back. If we can feel it from here, how bad must it be-

I'm sick again; it ends up on my hands and I feel as though that should disgust me, but I can't seem to work up the emotion.

I feel his hands grip my shoulders and he helps me stand, "we have to get away from here," he mutters tightly, and I raise my head to see the moisture begin to gather in his eyes. She's really gone – it's almost as though his grief confirms what, up until now, my brain had been desperately trying to deny.

"I promised to never forget her," I whisper, reaching out and locking my hand tightly in his.

He clenches mine back, and turns his head, meeting my eyes, "I don't think I could, even if I wanted to."

"She saved my life," I say, the words catching in my throat and my eyes stinging; though I'm not sure whether from the smoke or from the aching hole that now seems to reside within my chest.

He squeezes my hand, and takes a step away from the field, away from the billows of smoke that fill the clearing. I cough, once, and walk with him, not allowing myself to look back at the place of her death, because then I'll hate myself for leaving her.

A cannon sounds, and I clench my jaw tightly. She was too good to die in a place like this. What kind of a world is this when the good die this way while others watch them on their televisions and cheer on the flames?

* * *

So, this chapter was really hard for me to write, particularly because Rivka was always one of my favourite characters. And I haven't had time to edit it yet (again) so I'll do that tomorrow.

**Answer: **Monsters, by Hurricane Bells.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Gonna free fall out into nothing, g__onna leave this world for a while. _


	40. What I Have Become

_Day Six_

**Lien Axford, District 9.**

I shift my position on the branch and glare up into the sky. I don't understand how everything has gone so wrong so quickly. Yesterday I had been convinced that I had it sorted out – Kye was dead but I still had Aaron and he had been the strongest out of them anyway, we had a camp beside the Cornucopia and pretty much all of the supplies in the arena. But now where am I? I'm stuck up a tree with a hollow stomach and, as much as I hate to have to admit this to myself, I'm _scared, _more scared than I've ever been before in my life.

I press my hand to my stomach to try and silence the rumbling noise and I force myself to focus on something else, anything else, to take myself out of this place and attempt to forget just how much trouble I am really in.

Creatures move in the undergrowth below me; shaking bushes and making odd clicking noises and I sigh in frustration. How much longer can I be expected to stay sitting up here in this tree? I've almost run out of water and my limbs feel stiff and uncomfortable. It's more than my discomfort though – I don't want to look like a fool. It's humiliating to think that those other idiots in the arena with me are probably doing a hell of a lot better than I am right now. I grimace as I think of the audience watching me back home; how ridiculous I must seem right now. I've never liked to look stupid, and I despise the idea that I'm being made a fool of on national television.

I bet even that bitch alliance is doing better than I am, but it does make me feel slightly better to know that one of them has already been killed off. A smirk touches the corners of my lips, and for a brief second I feel a surge of regret that I don't know how the _freak _was killed. Well, if I win then that will be a moment that I will certainly enjoy.

_If – _strange that I am lowering myself to use that word when I was so certain that I had a chance when I was reaped. I wish that I was still strong enough to hold onto that belief, but stuck here up a tree surrounded by nothing but hostility I can feel the hope beginning to drain out of me.

I bang the flats of my palms against the trunk of the tree as frustration surges through my body; I blame Aaron completely for this mess that I'm now in. Why did he leave me? He had no right to leave me when I had done nothing wrong. I had certainly been a far better ally than Kye, or Rocco – I had kept myself alive and forced myself to hold a knife in order to prove my worth to him. But what had been the point of all of that now that he had just abandoned me. I _hate _him; if he were unfortunate enough to run into me now then I promise that I would make him pay for putting me in this position.

It seems strange that he had reminded me so much of Trevor when I had first seen him in the recap of the reaping, in such a way that watching him had made me feel safer even though I didn't want to let myself feel that way.

But Trevor would never have left me like that – he never did leave me, in fact; he was dragged away from me, forced to fight for a reason I don't quite understand. My parents told me he was brave and that had been more than enough for me. And I had known it anyway – if the Hunger Games had been around when he was younger there is no doubt in my mind that he would have been the winner.

I clench my fists tightly, wanting so desperately to prove that I'm just as brave and strong and capable as he was. But now I'm stranded with no allies and no ideas, knowing that everyone is watching me and judging me as I remain perched in this tree.

I've never been scared before – at home I was always the one that the other kids were afraid of. I had spent my life carving out my position in school as someone intimidating, someone who had power over the others. Even during the dark days when there was so much else to be threatened by I had still been in control. Trevor used to tell me off when I would return home, full of gloating stories about how the other children were afraid of me, but someone had to take control of those idiots and why shouldn't it be me? I was the only one with the initiative to understand that only one person can lead and it's not my fault if they were too stupid to do anything to stop me.

That was the only thing Trevor and I had ever argued about because I could never understand his point of view. I've often felt that he was too good of a person to have ended up a brother to someone like me and I feel that familiar gut wrenching pain that overwhelms me every time I think about him. In my heart I know that I should have died instead of him – he was the sweetest, most generous person that I've ever known and people like him are rare in this world. There are plenty of people just out for themselves, just like me.

I shake my head – I used to be able to ignore the bad parts of myself, and focus on building up an exterior to show to the world, to demonstrate that I was so much better than everyone else, but it's too difficult to keep that up in here. I've never felt lonelier in my entire life, and it's made worse with the thought that apart from my parents, there aren't many people back in District 9 who will be missing me. I grit my teeth as I think of my district partner, of Griffin, who has a friendly easy smile just like Trevor had and I know exactly who my home district will be rooting for. It's not even as though I blame them, or hate them, because if I were a good person then I would probably want him to win as well. As it is I just have this selfish _need _to keep myself alive. Wasn't I prepared to hoodwink my allies? I was planning to use them to protect me and then abandon them in a dangerous situation, hoping that they would get themselves killed off.

It seems as though they had seen straight through that plan – or at least, Aaron had seen right through it – and now I sit here, still so desperate to win, but painfully aware that my chances disappeared the moment that he packed his bags and left yesterday morning. I would kill him if I saw him now. I could do it, easily I think, after all the pain and humiliation he caused me, but I'm not surprised that he left, anymore than I would be surprised to learn that my district has chosen Griffin to support. I've never been much of a people person; most people annoy me far too much and I don't see the point in making that ridiculous small talk with people I don't even like in the first place.

But that doesn't stop the loneliness.

The sky grows darker over my head and slowly I shuffle along the branch, adjusting my position to try and make myself comfortable. Not that it's actually possible when I'm suspended in the air like this and I swear under my breath as my leg cramps up painfully. This is the worst time of the day in the arena, especially now that I'm on my own, because I have nothing to distract me when the voice comes and brings up a wave of memories to the front of my mind. I shudder as I remember his voice sounding in my ear; it sounds so real and it's so hard to make myself ignore it. It gets harder every day and I feel so alone that I sometimes wonder whether it actually matters. What would happen if I followed the sound of the voice into the shadows?

And my resolve breaks the moment that I feel the breath whistle against the back of my neck and my heart squeezes with the anticipation of hearing his voice again. He would tell me off if he could see me now. "Never give up hope," he used to always tell me. Well, I've given up now. I'm stuck here with nothing and no one to help me. And Trevor himself left me long ago, and then I gave up hope that anyone could actually love me.

I ignore the rustling and shuffling from the forest floor and climb slowly down the side of the tree. Because what's the point in pretending I'm not curious? I trust Trevor and I trust his voice. I _want _to find out what happens when I step into those shadows. As I drop onto the floor I press my hands against my forehead and remember the blaze of pain as Aaron had slammed my head against the floor. He had clearly thought that the shadows were something dangerous and as much as I had been spitting mad once I had woken up, I had understood the logic behind what he had done. But to me they had never represented danger, because how can his voice ever be linked with something dangerous?

But perhaps I don't really care either way, not as long as I get to see Trevor one last time.

I shift slightly, stiffening at the strange noises coming from the floor around me and I bite my lip. I wish that I were a stronger person, someone who was capable of dealing with this place because then I would climb back up the tree and sleep. Then I would wake up in the morning and look for food and water, and I would brandish my knife in front of me to show that I was ready to deal with any other tributes that I might encounter. But I've always relied on other people, and I don't know how to keep myself going. I don't even think that I want to keep myself going because I've had enough. How did I ever think that I might have a chance at winning this thing?

So when I hear his voice whisper my name through the trees, I let my lips curl upwards into a smile and my desperation to win drain out of me because his voice makes _this _seem so utterly pointless.

"Lien," his voice murmurs and I shut my eyes. I let myself imagine that he's standing in front of me, his familiar broad grin lighting up his eyes, even smiling when he was scolding me for something or other. My eyes drift open and I take a slow step towards the direction of his voice.

"I'm coming," I whisper, picturing him waiting for me with outstretched arms just around the corner just as he would wait for me at the end of school when I was younger.

I walk faster, almost tripping over my own feet in my desire to see him again. "Lien."

I take a final step and find myself suddenly completely surrounded my darkness. My hand drops to my knife, which is strange that should be my knee-jerk reaction as just six days ago I was adamant that I wouldn't have to touch a weapon in this place. "Trevor?" I mutter, my voice coming out of my mouth all high pitched and ridiculous. "Where are you?"

I know that it's not really him, but right now I would settle for any version. I just need someone to make me feel like myself again, someone to stay with me now that everyone else has abandoned me.

My feet come to an instant stop as my eyes begin to make out a figure standing just ahead of me, and I lean forward through the darkness, desperate to see him again. But as I take yet another step forward, something causes me to pause again. This person isn't big enough to be Trevor; in fact, they seem to be more around my own height than his. I suppose that it could be the lack of light deceiving me, but there hasn't been a day since he died that I haven't seen him in my dreams and I remember him perfectly. Whoever this is, it isn't Trevor, and my stomach feels as though it sinks straight to my feet as what little hope I had remaining disappears and I just wish that my heart would stop beating.

But terror prickles at the back of my neck as I finally come back to my senses and I realise where I am. There isn't exactly much of a choice as to who this person could be – it's another tribute, and that means that I'm in mortal danger. At least it's not one of the bigger tributes, because then I really would stand no chance at all. My fingers tighten around the handle of my knife and I stand motionless for a moment; the other person is still as well and for a moment we're both simply waiting for someone to make a move.

When I finally force my feet to start moving, however, it isn't towards this tribute with my knife held high above my head, ready to fight them off, it's to twist my body away from them and run in the opposite direction. I run haltingly into the darkness that surrounds me but then I spot someone else standing in front of me in the blackness. Another figure.

I clamp my teeth down against my lip as I take in the fact that I'm surrounded. How can I possibly fight off an alliance of tributes when I'm on my own like this? Do I even want to fight them off, or would it be easier to simply surrender and put an end to this?

This person stands just as still as the other and I drop my hand back down to my knife, starting slightly as they do the same.

Seconds later I want to kick myself for being so ridiculously slow. I've never used the word stupid to describe myself before, but I have no other option but to use it at this moment. There's a reason why these other tributes are exactly the same shape as I am, why this one went for its knife at the same time. I raise my hand in front of me and watch at the figure opposite me makes the same movement. I heave a sigh of relief as I realise that it's only my reflection standing in front of me. But I still can't stop the surge of disappointment that it isn't Trevor. I don't understand why I would hear his voice otherwise. I miss him so badly that it hurts, it physically hurts, and I just want to drop to my knees and block out the rest of the world.

"You promised me you'd never leave me," I whisper at the figure, squinting as though I can distort its edges enough that it will eventually come to look like him.

The figure suddenly raises a finger and beckons me closer. I take a step forward instantly, almost as though it is pulling me forward on a piece of string, and I make no effort to resist, even though at the back of my mind something tells me that it is my reflection, and so shouldn't be moving when I am not. As I move, so does the figure, and we step closer and closer until I begin to make out the features. Wide, almost feral eyes stare back at me out of the darkness and the pale skin glints slightly. Its hair – my hair – is matted and frizzy, hanging around my face in clumps and dirt and blood stains the front of the t-shirt. _My_ t-shirt.

But the worst thing of all is the expression on my face – blank, and empty. I can scarcely believe that this is really me.

I imagine what Trevor would say to me now – "Look at yourself, Lien. Look at what you have become."

_Look at what this place has turned me into Trevor. _My brother would be disgusted with the things that I have done here. I have lied and manipulated. I can see the words they must be using to describe me now, back at home – _bitch, scheming, user. _I shut my eyes as disgust flares in my own stomach. I've never been proud of the person that I am, but it's usually so easy to ignore that feeling; I'm usually so preoccupied with trying to get what I want to worry about how it might affect others. But here I have no defence left, no excuses to explain away what I have done.

_Bitch._

The word rings in my ears, bashes against the insides of my head and I drop to my knees, wishing more than anything that I could just forget.

But I can't, and I can't forget the fact that I've let _him _down. So brave and so clever, and he died so that I could have a chance at living. Now I'm here and I can see what I've done. My eyes flicker down to my knife for a moment, still clutched so tightly in my hands and my heart thuds in my chest as I imagine it as my escape route, my one chance to get out of here. I know that I can't win, not now, and I don't want to live with this knowledge anymore, knowing that I let him down so completely and can never go back and change my actions.

Perhaps if I make this one sacrifice then I can prove that I was at least worthy of being his sister, of him dying for me.

And suddenly all the fear drops away from me, and I raise the knife, balancing it for a moment against my wrist. This was how the woman next door did it, during the dark days – her whole family had died in a fire during the bombings and my parents had said that she'd given up the will to live. I hadn't understood at the time – I hadn't seen how anyone could just want to stop living. But death is far preferable to this hell that I'm living in now and her decision makes perfect sense to me now, because all I want is for this to be over, to take control for this one last time and end things on _my terms. _

I take a deep breath, willing myself not to be the coward that I've been at every other moment in my life before this one and I wince at the knife cuts into my skin and redness wells against the edge of the blade.

* * *

I'm sorry about how long it's taken me to get this chapter done, but summer has been a lot busier than I thought it would be! You can blame my summer job for this slow updating. On the upside, I've already written half of the interview chapter so that should be posted within the next couple of days.

If you're still reading then I would really appreciate it if you would review :)

**Answer: **Free Falling by John Mayer.

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _I said I hate myself and I want to die, half of it is innocent, the other half is wise, the whole damn thing makes no sense._


	41. The Families

**Spectators VI - _The Interviews._**

"Felicity; you're missing it!" Felicity's mother yells, but she pauses for a moment in the kitchen to grab a packet of sweets. This episode is boring her – the rain is keeping all the tributes separate and no one is speaking. She hopes that the Gamemakers will soon remember their jobs and do something to create a bit of excitement in the arena.

She stiffens as a cannon booms from the television, and she yelps as she darts back into the living room. "What did I miss? What did I miss?" she squeals, glancing across at her mother who gestures at the screen.

Felicity glances over just in time to see a glimpse of Lien lying on the ground before it flashes to an overview of the Capitol. "I can't believe I missed a death," she grumbles, irritated that she had chosen that moment to leave the room. At least she can watch it on the re-caps later, but that's not the point.

"I know something that will cheer you up," her mother says with a patient smile, and Felicity runs through all the things that she's asked her parents for recently, the things that they might possibly have bought her as a present.

"What?" she asks, the disappointment from missing a death in the Hunger Games all but vanishing from her memory.

"There are only eight tributes left now," she says, and Felicity claps her hands together in excitement as she realises what that means.

The interviews!

Donald Titan appears on the television screen with a flash of green hair and a glint of white teeth. "I'm pleased to introduce the moment you've all been waiting for. The interviews with the families of our final eight tributes. Get ready to find out all the secrets and stories of our remaining tributes. I hope you're as excited as I am," he says, a wide grin spreading out across his face and Felicity feels her own face curve into the same smile. She's certain that she is as excited as he is, if not more.

But she wonders for a fleeting moment if it might not be a bad idea to learn more about the tributes. Until now they've only been characters on the screen, put in dangerous situations for her own amusement. Sure, at the back of her mind has been the idea that they are simply children, punished for the fault of their parents, but it's easy to ignore that fact with the excitement of the Games. Learning more about them might turn them into real people, and Felicity would prefer to live in her blanketed world, hidden safe away from this knowledge.

These thoughts drop from the front of her mind as the screen changes and she can see a boy of around fifteen years old perched on the edge of a velvet covered chair, twisting his hands together. A cheery Capitol presenter lounges beside him in another chair, and Felicity recognises her from one of the daytime makeover shows. She'll be good at putting this boy at ease because she always make others feel comfortable around her. Felicity personally isn't a fan of her though – her skin is entirely the wrong shade of purple for her to be able to tell people what they should and shouldn't wear; she has no sense of style herself.

She turns to the screen, "now, as we all know, Samura's mother was unfortunately killed in an accident the day before she was reaped. But luckily Samura's friend, Han, is available for us to interview." She turns back to the boy who gives a nervous smile. Felicity is just annoyed at the fact that he's completely wasting his opportunity of a lifetime – if she were ever lucky enough to make it onto television, she wouldn't pull faces like that. "Now then Han, why don't you tell us how you know Samura," the woman asks brightly.

"Well, I met her at peacekeeper training about a year ago and we've always gotten on pretty well," he tells the interviewer.

It's fairly obvious that he doesn't know her well at all, and for a moment Felicity almost feels pity for Samura that she has no one left now that her mother is dead. But this is quickly suppressed by her irritation with this interview – what's the point of interviewing someone who doesn't even know Samura? Felicity hopes that this is a short one.

"Are you surprised that she's made it this far?"

"Of course not – she's always been a fighter and I doubt she's planning to let the arena defeat her. She was always top during training," he answers quickly.

"So you're expecting her to come out on top here as well?" the interviewer asks.

He nods his head, a real smile crossing his lips for the first time since the interview began. "I would expect nothing less of Samura and she's certainly strong enough to beat the others."

"And who would you say her main competition is at the moment?"

Han pauses for a moment to think, and then murmurs, "I think it would have to be Aaron."

The woman nods, and then proceeds into what she clearly feels is a more interesting topic. "What about her alliance with Griffin? I would have to be lying if I said that I didn't '_aaw' _at my television screen when she kissed him, and I'm certain that the rest of Panem feels the same way." Felicity nods her head in agreement, remembering how she had gasped out loud when it had happened.

"I'm glad that she's found a friend in there, and he seems to be good for her. I just hope that she remembers that he's still her competition, and this alliance can't last forever," he finishes, a sombre tone beginning to enter his voice.

She smiles, "well, hopefully it'll last a little bit longer at least. I, for one, am desperate to find out what's going to happen between them. What with Griffin still recovering from an injury."

Han nods and glances towards the door, almost as though he wants to escape from her and her questions.

"Just to finish up, what would you say to Samura if she were here in front of you right now?"

"I would remind her that everyone here is rooting for her, and that she's more than capable of winning."

"Thanks for your time Han," she says with a smile and leans across to shake his hand. As she does so the picture on the screen dissolves and there's a brief shot of Samura sitting beside Griffin. It lingers long enough for Felicity to see that they're still in their room in the castle, and that Griffin remains unconscious before it fades and instead another room appears on the screen.

Felicity realises that this must be Olive's family and friends.

"This is the girl you chose to sponsor, isn't it?" her mother asks, and she nods her head eagerly, leaning slightly closer to the screen.

A man with aqua hair smiles at the camera – it's Maurice Staven; one of the official announcers of the Hunger Games. "It's a pleasure to introduce Olive's family to you. This is her mother, Amissa," he says, gesturing towards the woman sitting just to the side of two young girls. She tucks a strand of mousey hair behind her ear and avoids looking at the camera. "There are her two sisters, Flamma and Glacies." One of the girls waves jauntily at Maurice, "and this is Loki, her best friend."

"You must be so proud of Olive for making it to the final eight," Maurice says, grinning at the cluster of people.

"Of course we're proud," Loki starts to say before he's interrupted by one of Olive's sisters. It's difficult to tell which one because they both look exactly the same.

"We never thought we could say that about our sister, right Glacies?" she says dismissively, "she's normally such an embarrassment." She laughs for a moment, "not that she hasn't been an embarrassment even in the arena."

"She's done well," Glacies pipes up, before falling silent under the glare of her sister. Flamma seems so different from Olive – confident, and almost arrogant. Felicity doesn't particularly like her, but at least she makes for interesting television.

"What about yourself Mrs Pithy?" Maurice asks her mother.

She starts as though she's shocked that he's addressing a question to her, "pardon me?"

"How do you think your daughter's holding up?"

"I am surprised that she's made it this far, but it's a pleasant surprise," she murmurs, so softly that Felicity has to turn up the volume to hear her reply.

Loki nods enthusiastically, "I hope that she can make it to the end. I really think that she's in with a chance," he says brightly.

"She can't make it to the end," Flamma snaps, turning her glare on him rather than her sister, "she's useless."

"Oh Flamma, we all know that you're just jealous that Olive made it farther than you ever could in there," Loki retorts impatiently, and she splutters in annoyance. Felicity laughs when he ignores her and talks over her. "Olive's always been a strong person, no matter what her sisters may say about her."

Maurice nods, "I think we can all tell that. What do you think about her alliance?"

"She got lucky that she made friends with people better than her," Flamma says quickly, shooting a triumphant look over at Loki that she got in there before he did, but he simply rolls his eyes in response.

"I'm glad that she found people that she could trust. Even if it does make it harder for her in the long run. I would need to be with other people in there too," he says.

"It will hurt her – watching them die. She's never been good with handling death," her mother suddenly mutters and everyone in the room with her stiffens slightly.

"Well," Maurice says jauntily, ignoring the awkwardness gathering between the others, "thanks very much for your time, and we all wish Olive the best."

The camera flickers to Olive and Harrow who are sheltering under a tree from the sudden downpour of rain. Neither of them are talking, or even looking at each other and Felicity hopes that they pull themselves together soon. She wants Olive to win to give her bragging rights at school; the others will be so jealous if she has picked the winner of the first ever Hunger Games.

Then the screen changes yet again and a dark haired man and woman come into view as well as a couple of teenage girls and a boy with a wide grin plastered onto his face. The interviewer is a short skinny woman dressed completely in white. "I'm pleased to introduce Sasha's parents to you, along with a few of her friends – this is Reah, Ariel and Hayden." The three teenagers smile at the camera. "How would you best describe Sasha?" the interviewer asks the group.

"Confident," her father with a smile, "she's always known exactly what she wants and she certainly isn't afraid to speak her mind."

The others nod in agreement, and Hayden laughs, "she's very determined – in fact, she scares me a little sometimes. Even when she was little she always used to boss me around, and I've always just accepted that's how it's going to be with her."

"Well, the fear factor is certainly a useful quality for a tribute. How do you think she's doing so far?" the woman asks.

"Amazingly," Reah bursts out. "We're all so proud of her and she's definitely proved that she's strong enough to win."

"I hope she makes it home," Ariel adds tearily, "it just isn't the same without her around."

"What do you think has been her highlight so far?"

"Definitely when she was dancing around with Kelby and Flint," Hayden replies with a grin, "it's so like her to always find a way to laugh, even in a situation like that."

Her mother adds, "we were all so happy to see her smiling like that. I've always said that her smile can light up a room."

"She certainly is a beautiful young girl," the interviewer agrees. "Now, what do you think about her alliance? There certainly are a few in the arena."

"I think they all need a bit of support in there, and Sasha's no different. But she's always been an independent girl, and I know that even if she were on her own in there, her situation would still be the same," her father says determinedly. Felicity wonders how he can sound so sure – personally she doesn't think Sasha has been that strong of a tribute, which is a shame seeing as she had such promise when she started. But then he's her father, so he would have to say something like that.

"Kelby seems like a sweet girl," Reah adds, "but she can't replace us." Ariel laughs even though Felicity can still see the moisture gathered in her eyes.

"You're certainly full of faith in Sasha," the interviewer says with a smile, and the group all nod in agreement. "I wish her luck, as I'm sure you all do too. Thanks for your time."

Once again the image changes and Felicity sees a fleeting glimpse of Sasha and Kelby crouched down beside a stream, Sasha muttering in a low voice about something or other.

Then Aaron's family appears on the screen. The man, woman and teenage girl all have blonde hair just like him, but there's another girl with dark brown hair who sits just to the side of the others who Felicity can tell isn't really part of the family. Their interviewer is Marla Drake who presents one of the chat shows which Felicity hates so much. She enjoys gossip as much as the next person, but the inane chatter on Marla's show gets on even _her _nerves.

"This is Mr and Mrs Vargas, Aaron's parents, his sister, Nerina and his friend, Envee." Envee is the only one who smiles at the camera, and Felicity suddenly feels oddly intrusive as she spots the tears already gathering in his mother's eyes. She shakes herself – there is no reason why she should feel any sympathy for these people. But she still feels a strange pang as she thinks back to Ariel's tears just moments before.

"So," Marla begins, "you must be incredibly proud of Aaron. He's had the most kills out of all the tributes so far."

His father nods earnestly, "I always knew Aaron had it in him – he was an intrinsic part of the force against the rebellion in our district, and he volunteered because he knows that he can win."

"The fact that he's had the highest number of kills proves how seriously he's taking this," Envee adds, a proud note entering her voice as she speaks. "Some of the tributes still don't understand, but Aaron sees it the way it is. You have to kill people, or you'll end up dead yourself."

"You mentioned that he was on the side of the Capitol during the rebellion?" Marla asks, and the four of them nod in response to her words.

"He certainly was. He was one of the main leaders," his mother says, in the same proud voice as Envee, "he's one of the reasons why the rebellion collapsed so quickly here."

"Well, that's definitely impressive, and a great qualification for him in the arena," Marla says with a smile. "What about you Nerina? How do you think your brother is doing?"

"I think he's just as arrogant as ever," she says, tossing her blonde hair at the camera, "but even I have to admit that he's doing well in there, and you have no idea how painful that is for me to say." Everyone in the room laughs. "I'm just glad that he broke the alliance when he did – that little girl was weighing him down."

"I have no idea why he even bothered allying with her in the first place," Envee says with a sigh, "when he gets home I'm going to ask him what he was thinking." Felicity wonders how she can sound so sure – Aaron is clearly a strong tribute, but he still has a lot of competition in there. She wishes that she could be so certain about something the way that Envee is. She clearly has a lot of faith in Aaron.

"And if you could give him one piece of advice at the moment?"

His father answers, "he just needs to keep doing what he's doing. And not get too cocky."

Nerina laughs, "I would be prepared to bet money that he will."

"Nerina," his mother admonishes. "I just hope he knows how much we want him to come back home."

Marla smiles, "Thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions."

The screen changes to an image of Aaron eating something out of a packet. Felicity notices the silver parachute at his feet and realises that he's been sent a sponsor gift of some kind. That must mean that he's quite popular, especially because the announcers said that the prices for everything would go up as the Games progressed.

Next up Kelby's family appears on the screen, and Felicity can't help but smile as she sees her son on the lap of her sister; he has exactly the same shade of orange hair as Kelby and Felicity strokes a lock of her own hair, glad that the stylist finally got the colour spot on. Their interviewer smiles at the camera; his name is Franz Yates and there have been plenty of rumours that he turned down a Gamemaker spot. When Felicity had first heard about this, she had been shocked, thinking that she would have given anything to be one of the mysterious figures in charge of the Hunger Games. But as she looks now at his pale complexion and slightly trembling hands she doubts that he could have handled the pressure.

"They've obviously got him on to prove that he does actually agree with the Games," her mother mutters from behind her, and Felicity turns to her in confusion; no one disagrees with the Games or at least, no one is supposed to.

"What do you mean?" she demands, but her mother shakes her head and presses a finger to her lips in response. Normally Felicity wouldn't let her mother fob her off with an answer like that, but she's too preoccupied with the interviews to care right now.

"This is Kelby Fuse's family. Her father, her sister, Fern and of course her gorgeous son, Kelz." Her sister holds up one of his chubby hands and makes him wave at the camera.

"So, your daughter has made it to the final eight. Were you expecting her to make it this far?"

"Kelby's always been very determined," her father answers with a wry smile, "and she learned a lot during the dark days, so I don't see why she wouldn't have a chance."

Her sister nods in agreement, "now that she's made it to the final eight, why shouldn't she make it all the way to the end?"

"We all heard her story about Kelz in the arena. Would you say that she's had a difficult time?"

Fern opens her mouth to answer the question, but her father quickly cuts her off. "I'd prefer not to talk about that, if that's alright with you. Our whole family has suffered a lot because of what happened and that's all there is to it."

Franz nods, and chews on his lip for a moment before asking the next question. Felicity's mother tuts at him.

"It must be incredibly hard for Kelby in there – I imagine she's missing her son a lot. Would you say that she's a good mother?"

"Of course, she's a wonderful mother, isn't she Kelz?" Fern answers, adopting a softer tone as she glances at the little toddler balanced on her lap.

He grins at the camera and Fern clutches one of his hands in between both of her own. "Kelz _needs _Kelby to come home, and she'll know that."

Her father nods, "nothing motivates a person more than the need to protect their own children." A sad expression passes over his face, and Felicity wonders if he's wishing that he could have protected Kelby from the arena.

She shakes herself – just because she has a child, it doesn't mean that she should be immune from being punished. That isn't the way it works.

"And has Kelby always been such a chatter box?" Franz asks, glancing off to the side of the camera distractedly.

"_Always. _Ever since she learned to talk, she hasn't really shut up!" Fern says with a laugh, "We're pretty worried that Kelz might turn out to be the same. But seriously, I've always been proud of how she always manages to stay so optimistic about everything, and I wouldn't ever want that to change."

Franz smiles blandly, "thanks so much for your time," he says, reaching out a hand to shake theirs.

Felicity glances back over at her mother as the screen shows a picture of Sasha and Kelby still sitting beside the stream. "What did you mean before?" she asks, "what did you say about Franz?"

She shakes her head, "never mind, Felicity," she murmurs, but Felicity can't quite shake the feeling that something is wrong.

She thought that the Hunger Games was universally supported by everyone in the Capitol, because the people in the districts deserved it for trying to start a rebellion against the very people who had saved them, but clearly there are some people who don't like the idea. Suddenly his waxy skin and shaking limbs hold a different meaning – Franz was scared about something and Felicity doesn't like the idea that he was threatened. Surely he is entitled to his own opinion?

_As long as he doesn't act on it, _Felicity thinks, and she wonders where the words sprung from.

She pulls her attention back to the screen to look at Griffin's family who are gathered on a sofa. Their interviewer is another one of the Hunger Games presenters; Xavier Stone, and he gives the camera a quick wave before turning to the family. "This is Griffin's mother and father, and his twin sister Moira." His sister looks exactly the same as him; they have the same dark hair and green eyes but her tightly clenched jaw suggests that she doesn't smile as much as Griffin does.

"How do you feel about Griffin's performance in the Games so far?" Xavier asks.

"He's doing well," Mrs Ashlock replies absently, shrugging her shoulders, and Felicity can't help wonder how she can be so blasé when she's talking about her own son.

Moira glares across at her mother, "he's doing _surprisingly _well," she says, "seeing as he always has been, and always will be, a complete imbecile." Felicity would be shocked by her words if she couldn't see the smile tugging at the corner of Moira's lips. No matter what she's saying, it's clear from her expression that she cares about her brother.

"You must be worried about him at the moment," Xavier says, "after that snake attack. He's still unconscious."

"He was attacked by a _snake,_" Moira says slowly, as though speaking to an idiot, "I think it might take him a little while to wake up after something like that. But I'm sure he'll be fine, as long as his _girlfriend _is watching over him."

Xavier doesn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm in her voice. "Of course, I was just about to come to Samura. I'm sure you'll agree that their relationship is very sweet."

"No, I don't agree," Moira snaps, when her parents simply nod and smile in response. She roll her eyes at her mother and then turns back to Xavier. "I don't think it's sweet; I think it's the stupidest thing that I have ever witnessed my brother do, and that's saying something."

"And why do you say that?" Xavier asks.

"Because one of them has to die. I know my brother, and I know that he's falling in love with her. I thought that perhaps he might have known better, but then again, common sense has never exactly been his strong point."

"Moira," her father mutters, casting her a warning glance. "It's good that he has such a strong ally."

She shakes her head in annoyance, "it's not good – he doesn't see it as an alliance. He sees it as a friendship, and probably more than that besides. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, my brother is an idiot."

Her father just sighs, "you'll have to excuse Moira; she always speaks her mind."

Xavier smiles, "that's absolutely fine Mr Ashlock." He turns his attention back to Moira, "so let me just ask you, if you could give Griffin once piece of advice right now, what would it be?"

"I would slap him and tell him to wise up, and realise where he is," Moira snaps, but then her face falls slightly and Felicity feels that this is the first true glimpse of Moira when she finally whispers, "because I want him to come home."

"Of course you do," Xavier replies cheerily, and for a brief moment Felicity doesn't understand how he can be so cheery in response to what Moira has just said. But then she remembers that the Hunger Games is for her entertainment, for all of their entertainment, and that it was created to have just this effect on the people from the districts. She thinks all this as though this is how she is supposed to feel, but she can't shake the feeling that Xavier should be showing some sympathy for this family, because there's certainly a part of _her_ that feels bad for them, no matter how hard she tries to suppress it.

She pulls herself out of her own thoughts long enough to see an image of Griffin flash up on the screen; he's still unconscious, and Felicity wonders how his sister feels when she sees that. She hasn't seen her own brother for a couple of weeks now; he got married last year and moved to the other side of the city and they don't visit him very often.

"Only two interviews left," her mother murmurs from behind her, and Felicity nods her head as Katana Smyte appears on the screen; the purple butterfly tattooed onto her forehead brings Felicity back to the programmes that she used to watch as a child which Katana always presented. The Hunger Games feels a world away from those colourful, bright cartoons.

"District 10 paid the price for playing an intrinsic role during the rebellion and many people were killed as a result of their crimes. This means that the only person available for us to interview for Misha is his five year old sister," she laughs brightly, "so this might be a tricky one, but I'll give it my best shot!"

The camera pans out to show a matronly woman wearing an apron balancing a pudgy blonde haired little girl on her knee. "Now, this is Lena," Katana says, smiling across at her, which causes Lena's face to break into a wide smile of her own. "And this is Ms Altberry, who runs the orphanage where Lena is currently living." The stern faced woman doesn't smile, merely nods in response to her introduction. "So then Lena, is it exciting to watch your brother on television?"

"I only saw him a few times," Lena says enthusiastically, muddling her words slightly, "she say that it too scary." She points at Ms Altberry who narrows her eyebrows.

"Who's she, the cat's mother? It's Ms Altberry to you," she admonishes, patting her hair as you would a dog's. Felicity's stomach clenches as she sees no hint on her face that she actually cares about this little girl. Now she can understand why Misha is so desperate to win the Games, but she's not sure whether he should really be trusted to look after her.

Katana smiles, look slightly uncomfortably at the woman's tone, "and do you think that Misha has a chance of winning?"

"Of course. He's my brother!" Lena exclaims, as though the answer is obvious. Felicity smiles at her faith in him.

"So you'll be cheering him on?"

She nods her head, "he will win, and then he will come home," she says.

"Of course he will," Katana agrees, and leans across to ruffle Lena's curls. She giggles, and Felicity wishes more than anything that she never has to know what's happening to her brother. Punishment is one thing, and right from the beginning she agreed that the districts should have to pay for what they did, but this little girl played no part in it, yet she is still being made to suffer.

In that moment, Felicity doesn't know how she feels. She had been so sure that it was a good thing; she had cheered on the deaths and chosen her favourites without a moment's hesitation, not thinking to consider the idea that they are real people. But now that she has seen their families – seen this little girl who will have no one left if Misha dies in the arena, she doesn't know how to condone what is happening.

"Thanks for your time," Katana says on the screen, and it shows an image of Misha crouching with his back against a tree trunk, a blank expression on his face, and Felicity has to look away so that she doesn't think of Lena.

Harrow's family is the last to appear on screen, and Felicity's jaw drops as she realises just how many people he has waiting for him back at home. An older man sits to one side of the sofa, his arm around a little girl with bright blonde hair. Three boys sit wedged in beside one another, looking awkward in the extravagant surroundings.

Their interviewer is a man Felicity recognises from one of the news channels, but she doesn't know his name because those programmes never hold her interest for very long. "I'm very pleased to welcome Harrow Followill's family. This is his father, Mr Followill, his youngest sister, Griet." She waves at the camera, bobbing her blonde hair as she does. "And, just let me get this right. This is Jeremy," she gestures at the only blonde haired boy who nods his head, "and Gregory and Reid. It's lovely to meet you all."

"Likewise," Mr Followill says softly, not quite making eye contact with the man.

"Harrow obviously has a lot of support among you lot. What do you think of his performance so far?"

"He's so brave," Griet announces and the rest of his family nod in agreement.

"I think the most important thing is that he's stayed true to himself," Gregory says, "some of the other tributes have completely lost themselves, and I'm just glad that he's still _Harrow."_

"We always knew that he would do well, didn't we Griet?" Jeremy says firmly, glancing across at her. She nods her head, setting her curls bouncing around her head once again.

"So, do you think that he's still in with a chance then?"

His father answers, "all Harrow has to do is keep his head, and I don't see why he wouldn't have as much of a chance as the other tributes. He's always been a strong lad."

"And, of course, his knowledge of medicine has come in very useful during his time in the arena. When did that start?"

"When mom died," Reid murmurs softly. "He's always saying how something like will never happen again." He ducks his head rather than looking at the camera. "Harrow has always wanted to help people."

"Now Reid, this must be doubly difficult for you, because Rivka was one of your closest friends, wasn't she?" the interviewer asks, and Felicity's stomach clenches.

"I don't really want to talk about that," Reid answers, still keeping his eyes trained firmly on the ground, and Felicity wonders if it's because he's afraid that he might cry.

"Your brother and your best friend both chosen as tributes; that must have been incredibly difficult – how did you choose which one of them to support?"

Reid's head jerks upright and even Felicity feels cold at the interviewer's callousness. "Of course it was _incredibly difficult," _he snaps furiously.

"Reid," his father mutters, but he ignores the warning.

"And do you think that I actually _chose _between them? As though I was rooting for one of them over the other? _Neither _of them should have been in there in the first place."

"Ok, well I think that's enough," the interviewer says, giving an uncomfortable laugh and glancing sideways at the camera.

"It's not enough," Reid says, almost yelling at him while his brother try to calm him down, "doesn't anyone understand? Those children were _murdered, _and not by each other, but by the Cap-"

The screen suddenly goes blank, and the words "Technical difficulties," appear across the screen for a moment before it changes to a re-cap of the day's events.

Felicity raises a hand to her cheek and her fingers touch the wetness gathering there, causing her to start in shock. She shouldn't be crying; these people are traitors, they deserve to be punished. But Reid's words ring in her ears and she can't shake free of the hold they have on her.

"I knew they were going to have problems doing live interviews," her mother says from behind her, "well, they won't be making that mistake again." How can she speak in such a calm tone when Felicity has never felt so confused before in her life? Why had it taken his anger to show her what she should have known all along?

Felicity has always been so sure of everything, so certain of what she wants and what she should do next, but in this instant everything seems to be collapsing around her. She's surprised that her mother doesn't even seem to notice that anything is wrong with her. She vaguely hears her say something about starting dinner, but Felicity can't move from her position in front of the screen. How had she let herself be so blind?

She presses her hands against either side of her face as though she has to hold herself together so that she doesn't break apart. She remembers Reid's furious words, flung at this interviewer in a moment of rage. He could never have imagined that they would have this affect on someone like her, because she is supposed to agree with the Hunger Games. But then she thinks of Franz - perhaps not everyone in the Capitol has to think like they are _supposed _to, and this realisation opens up her mind to a world of possibilities.

She has her own opinion and she can't stop the disgust that floods through her as she thinks of poor abandoned Lena, of the tears in Mrs Vargas' eyes, of the fact that Samura has no family left, of Moira's desperation for her brother to come home. It isn't right to inflict this kind of pain on people; she has never been a violent person, and she doesn't understand how she was seduced so easily by the idea of the Hunger Games.

_I have my own opinions, and my own thoughts._

* * *

I really enjoyed writing this chapter - don't ask me why :D And there won't be any updates for two weeks because I'm going on holiday but I'll try to get one out pretty quickly when I get back.

Also, I have a new poll up, so go and vote to let me know who your favourites are!

**Answer: **Hate, by Cat Power

**Question: **What song are these lyrics from? _Don't fight for the wrong side_, s_ay what you feel like_, s_ay how you feel._


	42. An Announcement

_Day Six_

**Griffin Ashlock, District 9.**

I don't know how long I spend suspended in nothing but blackness, floating in a world that lets me feel nothing, not even the pain which I know will be imminent if I wake up.

_When _I wake up.

Sometimes I lose focus completely, and it's far easier when I think about nothing at all. Because when I am able to think, all I can think about is the Games, the danger which I know surrounds me.

I don't know how long it has been when I finally regain control over my own body but I'm jolted awake by a voice, something isn't the voice of someone who I should feel comforted by, who should make me feel secure, but it's a voice that does those things anyway, and I allow myself to rise to consciousness, certain that it will be safe when I awake.

I jerk my eyelids open, wincing at the sudden brightness, and quickly clamp them closed again.

"Take it easy," her voice whispers, "you've been out for almost a whole day."

_An entire day? _It seems like a frighteningly long time, but at the time I'm surprised that it wasn't longer. I seem to have lost all sense of the speed at which time passes.

I struggle for a moment to remember _why_ I had been unconscious for so long, before it all comes crashing back.

"The snake," I say, my voice sounding strangely hoarse, and then I jerk upright as I remember where I am. Pain lances through my ribs as I sit up, but I'm so terrified in my panic that for a moment I don't notice.

I feel hands on my shoulders, pushing me back down to the ground, "don't move. Not yet. You need to take it slowly."

"But we're not safe," I mutter, more to myself than to her. "We're not-"

"We're safe for now," she murmurs softly, "just open your eyes slowly and stop panicking. It's making me edgy." I can't help the smile that curves my lips slightly as I hear the note of anger in her voice. It's good – it means that everything is back to normal.

I open my eyes slowly this time, taking it a slight movement at a time, and letting the light filter in gently. It still hurts, but it's not as sudden as the first time I tried it, and the bright blurry shapes around me gradually begin to come back into focus.

Samura smiles, and I'm so relieved that my sight hasn't been damaged that I grin back, and want to stand up and whoop and cheer. Something tells me that wouldn't be a wise move though – unless I want to evoke both Samura's anger and the attention of the other tributes who could be anywhere. I shudder as I'm forced to come back to the reality of my surroundings.

"Is anyone else dead?" I find myself asking, although really I'd rather not know.

"Lien. Her face was just in the sky. Along with the girl from twelve's," she replies, and I nod tightly. The fact that the other tribute from my district is now dead should have some sort of impact on me, but I'd never trusted the little girl, strange as it may sound, and I'm too exhausted to feel much sympathy for her. Still, she was only thirteen years old, and deceitful as she may have been, she certainly didn't deserve to die. Especially not in a place like this.

"How many of us does that leave?"

"Eight, I think," she tells me. "There's the two of us, the pair from Four, the girl from Five, and Misha." She shudders when she says his name, and I resist the urge to do so myself.

"That's only Six," I remind her, and she furrows her brow in concentration.

"What about the girl from Three?" I ask, "the quiet one?"

Samura nods – "I'm fairly sure she's still alive. Oh, and so is Harrow – you know, the boy from Twelve?"

I remember seeing him team up with them during training – the others had pulled faces and asked why he would want to be tied down to two seemingly weak and fragile girls, but I would never have wanted to team up with someone I disliked, just because they could be a benefit to me in the arena. Chances are, I'm going to die in here anyway, so I might as well share the last few days with someone I can consider to be a friend.

I bite my lip – wondering where such a though came from.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask, trying to distract myself.

"Plan?" Samura retorts with a quiet laugh, "the plan is for you to rest here and get better."

"There's eight of us left," I murmur, "I don't think it's safe for us to stay here. If anyone finds us, we're trapped."

She sighs, "I thought you were supposed to be the optimistic one?" she snaps and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to reply to that. Truth be told, I do still want to be the 'optimistic one' – it's the role I've played my whole life and in here, putting on that face has kept my mind for dwelling too long on the reality of what is happening. But there are _eight _of us left – the field is narrowing, and there's no getting away from the fact that the Games probably don't have that long left to go.

"No one has found us in here yet," she continues, "and what are our other options? You think we should go out there and actively try to hunt the others down?"

I shake my head – of course that isn't what I want. But we both know the rules, and neither of us is getting any closer to winning by staying up here in this room and pretending that we can just block everything else out.

"You saw what they sent because we weren't being interesting enough – that snake came for us because we weren't providing enough entertainment. If we don't do something, they're just going to keep sending muttations for us, and sooner or later one of them is actually going to get us."

"That's very cynical Griff – you sound almost like me," she says, a sad note entering her voice.

I feel the sudden need to cheer her up – remembering the sound of her laughter and the way her eyes gleam when she smiles.

"Well, we don't what that, do we? Can you imagine, two of you? That would unleash a great storm of misery across the land, and no one would be able to escape."

She rolls her eyes at me, "you're clearly recovering."

"Don't even pretend as though you aren't relieved. I can imagine you now – sitting in constant vigil over my body," I tease and she just glares in response.

"Maybe I should hope they _do_ send another mutt to finish you off," she retorts. Then she relents, "but I guess it was pretty quiet without you."

"Knew it!" I say with a grin, "you did miss me really."

"Of course I did, you idiot. Doesn't mean I care about you though – just means that you talk a lot. It fills the silence"

I raise my eyebrows at her, "but I am glad you didn't die," she mutters.

"I'm honoured."

I ease myself into a sitting position, and Samura eyes me disapprovingly, but before I can say anything she leans across and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. "Just don't do something like that again."

"I'll try."

We both start as a strange noise blasts through the arena – for a moment I'm convinced that it's a cannon, but then I realise that it had a distinctly different tone; more like a trumpet than anything else really.

"What is that?" I mutter, glancing at Samura who pulls away from me quickly.

"Hush," she hisses at me, as a chirpy voice is amplified across the arena.

"I suppose you're wondering what this announcement is for. Well, I'm sure that by now you're all getting pretty hungry and so I have the pleasure of inviting you all to a luxurious feast. It will take place at sunset tomorrow, in the grand hall of the castle. I suggest you get there early, because I'm sure everyone will be eager to get their fill. Sleep well!"

The voice trails out, and I glance at Samura in confusion.

"Don't you see?" she asks, "it's a way to bring us all together. Now that there aren't many of us left – we must not be the only ones who aren't being interesting enough. So if we're all in the same place, then the audience are guaranteed a fight."

I feel a chill run through me. "We have enough food here. We don't need to go."

Samura raises her eyebrows at me, "wasn't it you who was telling me earlier that there are only eight of us left?" she snaps, "we don't have a choice Griffin. This might be our only chance to get rid of the rest of our competition. They'll be coming to the castle anyway – even if we don't go down there, chances are someone is going to find us." She watches me for a moment, "we should get a good night's sleep now, and then position ourselves early tomorrow morning."

I sigh; so far, apart from during the initial fight, we've managed to avoid mass confrontation in the arena and, honestly, I'm scared about what could happen when all the remaining tributes come together. There'll be no escaping the fight if we choose to go down to the feast, and how can I keep us both safe? But I hear the truth of her words and I know that really, we don't have a choice.

One way or another, this has to end.

**Olive Pithy, District 3.**

The announcer's voice fades into the darkness, and the silence it leaves behind is sudden and unwelcome in our desolate little camp. A small fire flickers in between Harrow and I, but it can't keep the memories of Rivka's death invading my mind, and I know she's on his thoughts as well.

It was only this morning that it happened, but that already feels like almost a lifetime ago. I can't remember speaking to Harrow since then – I don't think either of us would know what to say to the other. After my dad died, I had hidden myself away from the rest of my family so that I wouldn't have to deal with what had happened. I wish that I could do that here, but there's no escaping from Harrow and his grief.

And now – the invitation to a feast tomorrow evening. "What do we do?" I hear myself muttering, my voice sounding hoarse and croaky from lack of us, and Harrow's head jerks up in surprise.

"We have nothing left," he murmurs, and I understand what he's saying without him having to spell it out for me. We have no choice but to take our chances and go to the feast.

"Maybe no one else will turn up," I say, "maybe they have enough food and will decide that it isn't worth it."

"Maybe," he replies, and I can't tell that he doesn't believe it either.

"So we go?" I ask, and he nods his head with a sigh.

"But I don't think we should try to get there early. Our best bet is to slip in once the others have started fighting."

"Ok, that sounds like a plan."

"Now, let me take a look at your hand. I hope there are some medical supplies at the feast tomorrow because you really need some new bandages." I glance at the grubby edges of the one currently wrapped around my hand.

"Harrow?" I murmur as he comes to sit beside me, and begins unwrapping the bandages.

"Sorry. Does it hurt?"

I shake my head, "it isn't that. It's just… I'm sorry about Rivka. I keep thinking that I should have stayed with her, that maybe we all could have gotten out alive if I hadn't left her there." My voice catches in my throat as I raise my head to meet his eyes.

"No – we would all have died, and then everything would have been for nothing. None of this would have mattered," he tells me softly.

"She was so brave," I say and reach out my good hand to squeeze one of his.

"We'll make her proud," he says determinedly, his hand tightening around mine, and I nod in response to his words. If I can do that, then maybe it will wash this guilt away.

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

"Well, I guess we know what we have to do," I say tightly, as the announcement dies off, and I meet Kelby's eyes.

She nods, "I guess one packet of dried crap wasn't going to get us much further," she says with a slight laugh.

Since Flint was killed, both of us have felt at a bit of a loss as to what to do with ourselves.

Until the boy from District 12 had stumbled across us, I had honestly believed that was the end of us. Neither of us could sleep, or eat, and if Harrow had wanted to, he could quite easily have taken us both out. I had been so numb that I almost believe that I wouldn't even have noticed.

But now; I feel as though this feast will give us some kind of purpose. The thought of it makes my stomach squeeze and my feet want to run in the opposite direction, but I know that we don't have a choice, and that if we shirk from taking part in it then I'll lost whatever semblance of strength I might have had left. I can't bear the thought of my family and friends watching me back at home acting like a complete coward. I would lose face forever if I did that. My reputation would be ruined and if I let that happen then I really will have nothing left to live for.

"Only eight of us left now," Kelby reminds me. I prefer not to think about that – it means I have a 1 in 8 chance of making it out of here, but the downside of that is that I have a 7 in 8 chance of _dying_ in this godforsaken place.

I feel guilty for wanting to live when it means that Kelby will have to die. She has a son after all – I should be making all kinds of declarations where I promise that I'll lay down my life to protect hers so that she can go home to him, but I just can't do it. The arena hasn't changed me that much. All I can hope is that it never comes down to the two of us, because I don't want to imagine how that would end, and at least if it never happens then I can go on pretending that maybe I would have been willing to sacrifice myself for her.

"I say we go early tomorrow morning – so that we can get a good place. We still need to take Aaron out," I decide.

It seems laughable to mention Aaron now, when we have all but given up on the idea of killing him, but that was our aim once, and maybe if I just focus on that then I won't feel quite so terrified about tomorrow.

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

I sigh with relief as the announcement comes to an end – it means that I no longer have to meander pointlessly around this arena, hoping that I'll eventually come across someone. I never expected that finding the enemy might actually be the tricky part; it's so frustrating when I know that the moment I finally come across one of the others I could easily take them out and be one step closer to getting home.

During the war against the rebellion it was never a struggle to actually find someone to fight – in fact, most of the time the sheer number of soldiers was utterly overwhelming, but at least I never found myself alone and without a purpose.

I volunteered to win, yet how can I when I can't even find any of the other tributes?

I begin planning in my head as I drift off to sleep. I know that it's dangerous to allow myself to sleep now that I'm no longer in an alliance – not that I was ever that certain about trusting the others to keep watch while I slept anyway – but I need to make sure I'm well rested for what is sure to be a difficult fight tomorrow, especially if that boy from District 10 shows up. As far as I'm concerned, he's the only one that stands between me and victory at the moment; the others are just collateral damage.

Well, perhaps not Sasha – she won't just be another faceless tribute when I finally get around to killing her. I won't deny that it will give me pleasure to finally be able to get revenge for what her aunt did to my family.

Training taught me that you shouldn't let your emotions rule your head when it comes to a fight, but I find it difficult to separate the two when it comes to Sasha, because it's personal.

**Misha Rolansky, District 10.**

_Do you really think you'll be able to beat the others? _

I press my hands against my ears despite the fact that I know that the voice comes from nowhere except inside my own mind.

Perhaps by blocking up my ears I'm actually trapping it inside of me instead of keeping it out.

_You're such a coward that I bet you won't even go. You don't have a chance against the others – so you'll stay away._

But I _can't _stay away.

What will happen to Lena if I just hide away in the trees?

But if I go, then I'll kill people, and maybe that will just push her even further away from me.

_That's right, _coward, _just talk yourself out of going. _

My limbs feel stiff, and my head feels as though it's floating amongst the clouds. I can't quite remember the last time that I ate, or slept.

Sleeping is painful though – the darkness only brings memories of the destruction that I caused and at least when I stay awake I can choose what I see. So I focus on my life before the rebellion, before everything went wrong, and sometimes I can even forget what sort of a place I'm in.

It never lasts long though, because the voice gives me no peace.

Always present.

Always goading.

I don't want to fight – I want to stay away and pretend that none of this is happening.

But I know that I'll never be allowed.

I'll go and kill, like the monster I really am.

_You can't win._

But I have to.

* * *

I don't even know how to apologise for the amount of time it has taken me to update this… I feel as though I should have written an especially long chapter to make up for my disappearance :/

For those of you who didn't see the message on my profile, I started uni in September, and this story kind of fell way down my list of priorities! But I am determined to finish it, even though it might take me a while.

Also, I'm not going to do questions anymore – I have the rest of the plot finalised now, including the order of deaths. All that I need to do is actually get it written!

Thanks to anyone who is still reading :)


	43. First Kill

_Day Seven_**  
**

**Kelby Fuse, District 5.**

The castle looms over us, and I can't help but shudder at the thought of what might lie inside. I glance sideways at Sasha, finding myself inexpressibly grateful for the fact that she's still with me. With Flint gone… Well, if I lost Sasha as well I don't know what I would do with myself.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask, wanting to make sure before I move any closer to this shadowy place. "Because, you know, I'm not sure that it's worth it. I know we don't have much food left, but I think we could last a couple more-"

"Kelby," Sasha interrupts, causing me to trail off into silence, "I know you're nervous, but I will still hit you if you keep talking."

At least Sasha seems to be getting back to her old self, though I'm not sure if that's an entirely good thing.

"Come on," she insists, "we made our decision. Now we need to stick with it."

I nod and reach out to take her hand. She squeezes mine tightly, and I know that she's just as scared as I am; she's just better at hiding it than me.

"Can you see anyone?" she hisses, glancing sideways at me, and after a quick scan of the clearing sweeping out ahead of us I shake my head. I just want to get out of the open like this – it feels too exposed after days of tramping around underneath the trees.

Sasha seems to make a split-second decision, and suddenly she's dragging me towards the castle, seemingly without a second thought. I dash along beside her, trying not to focus on the chills creeping along my spine as I imagine another tribute lurking somewhere behind us, perhaps with an arrow ready to launch towards us.

We reach the massive doors and Sasha shoves her shoulder against them, swinging them open with a groan that makes me start and glance warily behind us. Surely if someone _is _nearby, then they'll definitely have heard that.

"Sasha," I start, just wanting her to be quiet.

"Just shut up and get inside," she snaps, pushing me ahead of her, and then easing the doors shut against behind us.

I stare around me – never in my life have I seen a room as big as this one. The ceiling seems high enough above us that it could almost be the sky and I imagine that if I shouted, my voice would echo around the room for days. Four long thin tables occupy most of the space and my heartbeat quickens as I picture the tables covered with food.

"Seems like the perfect room for a feast to me," Sasha mutters from beside me and I realise she was thinking the same thing I was. I shudder as I imagine what is going to happen in here later.

"We can't wait in here," she adds, "we won't exactly have the element of surprise if we just sit in here and wait for everyone else to arrive."

"We could hide under one of the tables," I suggest, but Sasha gives me a scornful look in response.

"And then probably end up trapped there when everyone else starts arriving. If they find us when we're under a table, we're dead."

"Well, what do we do then?" I ask, impatience beginning to bubble inside of me.

Sasha gestures towards the door at the opposite end of the room, "there must be somewhere we can hide through there. Somewhere we can keep an eye on the time. And then when it gets close enough we can burst in."

I'm not totally convinced, but another scan of the room brings up no other ideas. Besides, Sasha's right – hiding under a table would be suicide if any of the other tributes decide to arrive early. My sword wouldn't exactly be useful then.

"Fine," I mutter and Sasha rolls her eyes at me.

"There's nothing else we can do. And this feast might be our last chance to get to Aaron."

I resist the urge to roll my own eyes – I can't believe she's started up on this insane Aaron vendetta again. But what she said this morning about needing a purpose is fair enough. If I didn't have Kelz back at home waiting for me, then perhaps I would need some aim like this to keep me from losing my mind in this place.

We walk towards the doors and Sasha shoves at them. "Shit – it's locked," she mutters.

"Locked? So we can't get in there?" I ask, earning myself a glare.

"Well done _brainless_," she snaps, "can you see a key anywhere?"

Just as we turn our backs on the door there's a clicking sound behind us, and we both whirl around just in time to see the doors slide open eerily by themselves. I glance sideways at Sasha.

"Well, that was convenient," she says with a shrug, and takes a step forward.

I grab her arm, "don't you think it's suspicious? It's almost as though they want us to go in there."

"I'm perfectly happy to oblige them." Sasha shakes my hand off her arm and walks through the entrance.

"Why do they want us to go in here? What if it's a trap?"

"This whole place is just one massive trap," she retorts, "and I'm going to wait around here to get killed just because this looks a little bit _suspicious. _But please, feel free to wait here by yourself."

"Sasha," I murmur, "please can we just not argue?"

Now that we're getting so close to the end, I know it's only a matter of time before one of us gets killed, or we have to split up. Because it can't come down to just the two of us – I can't even imagine what would happen if it did, what we would do if we had to fight each other. That means that I don't want to spend what could be my last day with Sasha arguing like this. I take a step through the door to follow her. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not ready for us to split just yet.

She smiles dazzlingly at me, and I'm reminded just how easily she got the Capitol audience on her side and won herself plenty of sponsor gifts. I'm just glad I'm on her side, because Sasha would make a lethal enemy.

"Just look out for somewhere we can wait," she tells me as we move deeper into the heart of the castle, the torches on the wall casting a strange flickering light around and making me feel jumpy.

The castle is a strange place – the first time we step onto a staircase both of us have to suppress a shriek as the whole staircase moves underneath us, changing its position and leading us to a different door. What with the doors opening, and now the stairs changing, I can't help but feel that we are being led somewhere specific. But I tell myself that I'm just being paranoid because of the eerie darkness in this place.

We finally come to a stop at a point where the corridor widens out and a wide window sends beams of sunlight streaming towards us.

"What time do you reckon it is?" I ask, but Sasha just shrugs in response.

"I hope we can find the way back out," she mutters instead. I'm not too worried about that though – I have a feeling that they'll want us to be at the feast, so that's most likely where we'll end up.

"Look," Sasha murmurs, gesturing at the spigot on the wall. But I hesitate for a moment; the air feels too still and silent. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. "Who knows if there'll be water at the feast or not. We should fill our bottles now."

She's already unzipping the bag and pulling a bottle out when I hear the footsteps behind me, and I whirl around to find two tributes staring at us. It's the boy from 9, and the girl from 2, I realise in a panic – I remember her from training – she was lethal with a mace. Sasha whips her head up and glares fiercely at the two of them before Samura pulls the mace from her belt and charges towards her.

The boy glances at her for a moment before pulling a knife from his belt. I have just enough time to see Sasha trying to knock Samura to the ground beside me before he raises his knife. I barely get my sword out in time, and I feel the clang of metal against metal reverberate along my arm.

He's strong, I realise with a panic, and I try to take a step away from him but stumble back and bash into the wall behind me.

_You can't just give up – what about Kelz?_

And I've been trained to use this sword – surely that gives me the edge over him?

The memory of Kelz's face gives me the strength to raise my sword again, and I slash at his face, swinging the weapon just as my dad had taught me all those long nights during the rebellion. He knocks my arm out of the way before the blade gets anywhere near him and swings his knife at my side.

I jump out of the way, but trip over my own feet and almost send myself sprawling to the floor.

As I straighten up I hear the clang of metal against metal beside me, and twist out of the way just in time to avoid District 2's mace as she swings it towards Sasha.

"Missed me, bitch," Sasha hisses, dancing backwards from her attacker.

I tighten my grip on my sword and slice at his side. The blade nicks his shirt very slightly and blood wells up from the cut.

He tries to slice at my sword hand, but I dart away from him. Maybe if I can just keep him moving, then I'll be able to tire him out and wear down his strength.

I manage to make another cut, this time on his cheek and he gets me just below my elbow. The blood flows down my arm, making the hilt of my sword slippery and difficult to hold onto.

I'm determined that I will make it back home to Kelz, that I will not die in this place, and so I ignore my wound, ignore Sasha's fight, and focus on nothing but parrying his knife and keeping the blade away from me.

Just as I begin to feel more confident in the fight, as though I'm somehow managing to gain the upper hand, there's a strange gasping sound from the floor next to me, and the boy's jaw suddenly tightens in determination, and he launches himself towards me. His body slams against me, shoving me back against the wall and the force of it knocks the sword out of my hand, sending it to the floor with a clang.

I try to wriggle away from him and get my sword back but he's clearly much stronger than I am, and he seems desperate to rescue his ally.

He clenches the muscles in his jaw and I stiffen as I feel the cold edge of metal press against my neck.

I hear the strange gasping sound again and this time glance sideways. Sasha has her arm pressed against the girl's windpipe, and she thrashes desperately to get away from her. He follows my gaze and then turns back to meet my eyes. He seems almost… _guilty._

"Griffin…" the girl on the floor rasps and his hand clenches the knife more tightly.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"Just do it," the girl chokes and I see the determination in his eyes.

I shut my eyes, my whole body trembling. I hope Kelz isn't watching now – I don' t want him to have to watch me die.

I feel a tear roll slowly down my cheek when I realise that this is really going to happen – that I'm really about to die. "Make it quick," I hear myself say, and then I feel a sharp jolt against my neck.

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

Someone knocks into my back and forces me off her and onto the ground. I scramble upright and spin around – determined that this pair won't get the best of me. I'm so frustrated – if I was even a little bit stronger then she'd be dead by now.

The bitch had knocked the knife out of my hands and my own strength hadn't been enough to finish her.

A cannon suddenly blasts and I stiffen in horror, whirling around to find Kelby - to check that she's right. But my eyes land on something else instead.

Kelby's sword.

My heartbeat pounds in my chest - if something has happened to her, then it's all my fault. I was the one who insisted that we come in here despite how strange it had seemed.

I grab the sword quickly, and glance around in desperation.

Then my eyes land on the red pooling on the floor, and on _her _body.

"What did you do?" I shriek, the words tearing from my throat as I throw myself towards her, not caring about the blood staining my clothes.

I find the boy from District 9, Griffin, staring at me with a horrified look on his face. "I'm sorry," he stammers. My eyes travel from his face, to his arm wrapped tightly around the District 2 bitch who leans on him, still gasping for breath slightly. "I couldn't let you kill her," he mutters tightly.

"You didn't have to kill her," I snap.

"This is the Hunger Games," the girl rasps hoarsely, "killing is the point of the game."

"She had a son," I yell at him, "and now he's orphaned."

"I didn't know," he whispers, and I feel a sort of twisted pleasure seep through me as I watch the guilt blossom across his face. "I didn't know - if I had I-"

"Don't, Griffin," the girl says, "you can't afford to feel bad in here. You did what you had to do, now you have to focus on something else."

My hand tightens around the hilt of Kelby's sword as anger mixes with my own guilt and I want to do _something, _anything, to take revenge for her death. But my movement is noticed by the girl who holds her mace out in front of her. "Two against one – you won't win."

"I can try," I say, my voice quivering.

She shakes her head, "just go – if you leave now then we won't come after you."

I know this is a fight I can't win, but if I don't even try then I'll feel as though I'm letting Kelby down – disgracing her memory.

My hand trembles and I clench my fist tightly – first Flint, and now Kelby. I'm the only one left of my alliance and we had never even killed Aaron; the reason we had bonded in the first place.

I clench my jaw – if they kill me now then I'll never get a chance to take him out. Maybe if I can kill him, then I can make their deaths worth something.

It's not much, but it's all I have left to give them in this place.

I jab my sword in their direction, "fine. I'll go. But if I see you at the feast – you're dead," I say tightly, meeting Griffin's eyes. I don't care that he feels bad about it, that he was trying to save his ally – he still killed her. So first I'm going to kill Aaron, and then I'm going to kill him and his bitch of an ally.

I grab my pack and sling it across my shoulder, sliding the sword into my belt at the same time.

And then I walk – I can't look back to see her body, because I know if I do then I'll never be able to leave her.

I'll start crying, and I won't know how to stop.

* * *

Ok, this one was hard to write :( And the next chapter is going to be even harder - just a bit of warning.

Thanks to everyone who is still reading and reviewing despite my long absence! I promise you all that I will get this story finished.


	44. The Feast

_Day Seven_

"Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast."

**Aaron Vargas, District 4**

I watch cross legged as the sun begins to sink slowly in the sky: I know that in a few minutes time I'll have to leave and make my way towards the castle. I'm not stupid – I do realised that they're staging this feast in order to bring us all together, to bring some entertainment for the people watching us on their screens.

It sounds ridiculous of me to admit, but that irritates the hell out of me. And I know; I volunteered, so I don't deserve to be annoyed because I chose to put myself in this position. But there's something different about fighting in a war, fighting for what you believe in, and fighting just for the sake of fighting. Worse; this is simply for the entertainment of the spectators.

Well, it's too late now. I hadn't known what to expect that day when I had lurched forward to volunteer in the square back home. I had only wanted that blood-pumping, adrenaline-rushing feeling again. I never wanted to end up as a spectacle for the bored citizens of the Capitol.

I jerk back into reality as I realise how low the sun is sinking, and I force myself to my feet, stretching my limbs as I stand.

If I can take out as many of the others during this fight as I can – and try to forget the cameras that will surely be watching me – then maybe I can make it back home, and I can forget this place. All I really want to do is leave the arena far behind me and get on with my life.

The walk to the castle doesn't take me long – I made sure to position myself close to it when I made camp yesterday, and I feel well rested and ready for the fight.

I come at the castle from a slight angle, making sure to hide myself well amongst the trees as I draw nearer. I stop for a moment before the very last branches, crouching down in the shadows and surveying the clearing in front of me.

I tense slightly as there's a movement to my right, and what little light is left catches the blonde hair of another tribute. I strain my eyes, and hear quick, shallow breathing coming from a bush near me. My hand tightens on the handle of my knife, and I shift my position, intending to move around the back of this tribute and kill them quickly in the shadows.

Just as I start to move, another movement? from the opposite side of the forest catches my eye, and a tribute I recognise darts from the darkness towards the doors of the castle.

"_Sasha," _ her name hisses from between my gritted tenth without my intending it to, and there's a rustling from beside me. I jerk my head back around in time to see the blonde haired tribute disappears from the leaves beside me, deeper into the depths of the trees.

For a moment I'm torn – the blonde tribute won't be far away from me, and I'm fast, so there's no doubt that I'll be able to catch whoever it is. The only problem is that I have no idea if they're allied with anyone else – and while I'm a skilled fighter, if I end up getting ambushed in the darkness of the forest, I'll be in trouble.

And Sasha has been my target right from the beginning. I didn't get to kill her Aunt, but I'm determined that she at least will die because of me.

I swear under my breath, wrap my hand tightly around my spear and sprint across the clearing towards the castle doors.

**Olive, District 3.**

My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I watch the dark shape of another tribute finally leave the bushes and dash off towards the castle doors. I chew on my lip for a moment, fed up of waiting amongst the trees. I squint into the shadows, searching for Harrow. I don't like the fact that he's not here with me – it makes me feel even more nervous, if that's actually possible at this point.

My legs are just starting to cramp up from being crouched in the same position for so long when I hear rustling of leaves coming from just behind me. I spring to my feet, whirling around in terror.

There's a laugh, and then Harrow's voice drifts through the trees, "so jumpy Olive."

"You're late," I complain, "you can't blame me for getting anxious."

He makes his way towards me, and as he gets close enough for me to read his expression, I can see that he's just as scared as I am despite his teasing tone.

I bite my lip again, "what did you see?"

"It's been silent for a while," he replies, "I had a quick look through the window, but I didn't want to risk being seen. It doesn't seem as though many of the others have arrive yet.

I glance sideways at him – I know that we've basically run out of food and that what's available at this feast might very well keep up both alive for a little bit longer, but I'm just not sure I want to risk it. Every time I close my eyes, or even just let my thoughts wander for a moment, they drag me back to the image of Rivka lying on the ground, yelling at me to run, her eyes filled with terror…

I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

"Olive," he starts.

"I know," I tell him. Because I do know – we have no choice really.

But I can't help but feel that we're just so unprepared and weak compared to the other tributes – Harrow might be able to fix up wounds, but he has no skill in inflicting them, and no real motivation to do so either. This, I can understand – Rivka isn't exactly the _only _person I see when I close my eyes. But I can't afford to feel guilt about that just yet.

Our only real strength lies in the fact that we're still retaining our alliance, but who knows what will happen in there?

"We wait a bit longer, and then we'll have to move in," he says in a tight voice.

"Maybe they'll just all kill each other off while we're waiting out here," I reply, only really half joking.

"Maybe."

**Sasha Darke, District 4.**

My heart bangs in my chest as I race through the heavy wooden doors, but I come to a sudden stop as my feet cross the threshold of the castle. The tables are covered with plates heaped high with mountains of food; food more luxurious than I've ever seen in my life, let alone the type of food that I would ever have expected to find once I entered the arena. But then, I suppose that the Capital is our host, and why shouldn't they spoil us with this food?

We are dying for their entertainment after all.

I wish more than anything that I could find some way of making them pay for everything that they've done to us. I think of Kelby slumping to the ground, blood spilling from the wound in her neck. I want to hate Griffin for killing her – that would be so much simpler. But I had seen the guilt on his face, and it's not as though I'm any stranger to it. I mean, that boy from District 1 had died because of my knife after all. We were forced into this, all of us.

I sigh because I know that thinking like this isn't exactly going to help me now, but it's hard to stay positive when my friends are dead and I find myself alone.

I start towards the tables, unhooking my rucksack straps from my shoulders. If I move quickly then I can shove as much food as I can into my bag, and then maybe I'll be out of here before the other tributes start to appear.

There's a creak from beside the door, and I jump, whirling around in time to watch the smirk break out across his irritatingly handsome face.

Turns out, it's too late.

"I've been looking for you ever since you escaped me at the beginning," he tells me, his hand tightening around a spear fastened to his belt.

I narrow my eyes, "don't you mean, since I beat you at the beginning?"

"You mean with that underhanded trick? Don't kid yourself, you couldn't beat _me."_

"Yeah, well I think I already-"

My words are cut off as he yells at me, "YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME? THINK YOU HAVE A CHANCE AGAINST ME?"

I stiffen, shifting backwards until my legs knock into one of the tables behind me. "I don't know what you're-"

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I couldn't make your Aunt pay, so I'm going to make you pay instead. Then maybe your family can stop walking around like they own the place."

I swallow. _Don't be a coward Sasha, _I tell myself firmly. _You beat him once and you can sure as hell beat him again. _"So what, this all comes down to you being jealous of my family?" I taunt.

He laughs, "please tell me you don't really believe that."

"So, shall we just get this over with then?" I ask; I've had enough of this pointless discussion when we both know exactly where this is headed.

He raises his eyebrows at me, "are you really that eager to die?"

"Are you really that convinced that I'll be so easy to beat?" I demand, pulling Kelby's sword from my belt and swinging it towards him. I've never actually used a sword before, but it didn't look _too _difficult when Kelby used it. Besides, I kind of like the fact that it was her weapon – it's almost as though I can feel her egging me on, and I need all the help I can get in this match.

**Aaron Vargas, District 4.**

I almost raise my eyebrows in surprise as she swings the sword towards me – I had expected her to attempt to stall for as long as she could. But I'd rather just get this finished with. I can already hear other tributes entering behind me, but I resist the urge to let them distract me. I doubt that they'll try and get involved with the fight that is already going on; that would be dishonourable.

I quickly whip my knife out of my belt and a noise rings out as our blades collide. She gasps, and I can't stop but smirk at her – to be fair, she's actually pretty strong for her size, but I have training, experience and desire for revenge on my side. I have the advantage.

She retreats away from me and attempts to bring her sword around to my left side.

Yeah, well fortunately I wasn't born yesterday, and simply swap my knife to my other side and block her blade once more. "You're really think that's going to work on me?" I question incredulously, lunging forward and slashing at her arm.

She gasps in pain as blood wells on her forearm, "it was… worth a… try…" she replies haltingly, seemingly distracted by the blood now dripping onto her palm. The sword slides slightly out of her grip, and she's forced to transfer it to her left side.

She has no chance with her weaker hand – not that she really had much of a chance anyway. We were trained during the rebellion to make sure we were equally strong on both sides. But her right side is clearly stronger – I parry her next swing easily, and dart away from her blade, moving around to her other side.

I slash at her again, and her arm moves in an awkward angle to attempt to defend herself.

It goes on like for several minutes; me attacking and her attempting to parry. Until she somehow manages to land a blow on me. The edge of her blade scrapes across my thigh, causing blood to well from the gash.

I snarl in fury – that should _not _have happened. She should _not _have been allowed to wound me.

"Ha," she says tiredly, "told you I could beat you."

"_Don't _joke with me," I say, my voice low.

She laughs, "that probably wasn't as threatening as you might think it was."

I glare, and yell wordlessly in frustration, attacking her again. I slash furiously at her, and suddenly there's a clattering sound as her blade falls to the ground. We both look at it for a moment, and then she looks at me with a panicked expression on her face, and spins around, attempting to run to the other end of the room.

I yell again, and start after her, lunging into her and sending us both sprawling to the ground. She scrabbles away from me, kicking her legs wildly – can't she tell that this over now?

But she keeps kicking and shrieking, until her foot catches my knife and sends it scraping away across the stony floor. She twists away from me as I reach for her neck, intending to bang her head against the floor. Anything can work as a weapon.

She spins around and spits in my face, surging back to her feet. I grab her ankles and send her back down to the floor, scrambling to my feet as she falls and skids along the ground.

I tug my spear free from my belt and press my foot against her back to stop her from trying to get up again.

I bend down and tug on her shoulders to turn her over – I want to see that she knows that she's beaten, that I have beaten her.

Blood still flows from the wounds on her arms and hips, and it starts to pool on the ground. She wipes a bloody hand over her forehead, leaving a stain.

"Congratulations," she mutters, gasping for air.

I point my spear at her, "what?" I demand. Why does she sound so calm? She shouldn't be allowed to sound to calm when she's about to die. Does she still not realise it?

"On your grand victory," she replies, "it's what you wanted right? Or is your revenge not as satisfying as you had imagined?"

I try to ignore her. This should feel satisfying; I have finally taken revenge for my sister's death, but somehow it seems to mean nothing. "It does," I tell her sharply, trying to ignore the mess of confusion within my mind.

At the end of the day, is she not just a young girl just like my sister? Will inflicting more pain truly take mine away?

She raises her eyebrows, "you don't seem so sure."

Anger rises in my chest, "you don't know me," I snap, "you have no idea."

She just laughs wearily, and closes her eyes. "You know, it's strange," she murmurs, "I thought dying would be more impressive. Going out with a bang, or something. But this doesn't feel particularly _impressive_."

I don't know what to say back to that, so I just stay silent, the tip of my spear pressed again her chest.

"Just do it," she tells me.

I grip my spear more firmly, and tighten the muscles in my arms.

"At least I'll leave a beautiful corpse, right? One of the only advantages of dying young."

I clench my jaw and drive the spear deep into her chest.

**Samura Nightshade, District 2.**

"Time to run," Griffin yells from beside me, his eyes watching something nervously over my shoulder.

"Just a minute," I snap impatiently. I have my eyes set on the heaps of apples in front of me. Sounds stupid, but they remind me of home, and of a time when I felt safe. I can hear my mother's voice whispering in my ear, "a_n apple a day…"_

"I'm not kidding around," he retorts, "that massive guy from District 10 has just appeared, and that means it's time for us to _dis_appear."

Ah, I see – Griffin is done with fighting. One kill and he can't bear to confront anyone else.

Back home in the Peacekeeper Training Academy we would call that cowardice. In here, I'm starting to understand that cowardice is something else entirely, and Griffin is a hell of a lot braver than I could ever hope to be.

I shove a couple of the apples into my bag, and whirl around. The tribute from 10 stands in the way of us and the rest of the castle. If we want to return to our room, then we'll have to fight him.

I exchange a glance with Griffin as the tribute begins to walk towards us. Both of our rucksacks are bulging, and I'm sick of feeling like I'm trapped. Outside, we run the risk of running out of food a lot faster, but I'm not sure I can bear returning to that room; the place where Griffin had almost died.

I take in his panicked expression now – worried that I'll want to fight. I nod, gesturing my head towards the open front doors. I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine tightly and we start running towards the doors as the 10 tribute pulls an arrow from the quiver slung across his back. Griffin practically drags me through the room, and I trip over something on the ground. I glance backwards for a second, and my eyes find the body of the girl from District 4. That means that the District 4 boy is no longer occupied.

A blonde shape appears out of the corner of my eye and barrels into us, sending both Griffin and I sprawling to the floor. I swing wildly towards the boy with my mace, but it just throws me off balance and both him and Griffin manage to scramble back to their feet while I'm still gaspign for air on the ground. Griffin shoves the other tribute, sending him staggering backwards.

"His leg!" I yell, noticing the blood staining through his trouser leg.

Griffin kicks the boy, and he swears furiously and presses his palm against the wound.

I push myself back to my feet, making sure to grab my mace as I stagger upright. There's a strange twang from behind us and an arrow sails over my head, so close that I feel it pass over my head.

I swear and grab Griffin's wrist, pulling him towards the door. We step over the threshold just as the boy releases another arrow from his bow.

But the arrow wasn't meant for us this time.

**Olive Pithy, District 3.**

I can only stare at the arrow.

I can't move.

I can't speak.

I can't…

He slumps to the ground, his fingers attempting to grasp at the arrow. I don't know whether he's trying to pull it out, whether he thinks he can save himself.

I step towards him, pressing my hands over my lips to stop myself from sobbing. But then I shake myself – this isn't a moment for cowardice. I have to be strong.

I have to be strong for him.

I race towards him and bend down beside him, pressing my palm against his cheek. "It's going to be alright," I whisper, my voice shaking. So much for being strong...

"I'm so sor-" my voice catches and I press my lips together.

His eyes find mine. It's easier to keep my eyes focused on his; then I can ignore the blood flowing from his stomach, dribbling from his mouth.

"Olive," he rasps.

"Don't," I tell him, "don't try to speak. It's alright, I promise. Everything's alright."

"Olive, just let me. Ok?" He sounds stronger, and my stupid heart surges with hope, even though I know that it's pointless. Even Harrow with his magical medical skills wouldn't be able to fix himself up.

My other hand finds one of his and I squeeze it tightly, nodding my head. "I'm listening."

"I'm sorry," he tells me, "sorry that I'm leaving you alone."

"It's not your fault," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat again.

"I'd almost rather it were this way; not sure if that makes me selfish or the opposite."

I laugh, because if I don't then I'll probably start crying, and I promised myself that I would be strong for him, even if that seems to be failing miserably so far. "I don't think you could ever be selfish Harrow," I tell him.

"Promise me," he says suddenly, "promise me you'll win. This is worth it if you win."

I nod, "I promise," I whisper.

He smiles slightly, and his eyes drift close. "No, Harrow." I shake my head. _Please not yet, _I think desperately. I don't know how I'll be able to cope in this place with both him and Rivka gone. But hand falls limply away from mine, and his gasping breaths cease. I should be relieved that his suffering is over, that his pain didn't last for too long, but all I can think is how alone I'm going to be now.

I wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth with my sleeve, shut his eyes with my fingertips. I don't know what else I can do- I'm not ready to accept this.

I glance up, and find three pairs of eyes upon me, watching Harrow as though entranced. I hadn't realised that we'd had an audience. Anger flares unexpectedly within me and I force myself to my feet.

"Who was it?" I ask, my voice hoarse, and too quiet. I swallow, and trying again. "Who was it? WHO DID THIS TO HIM?"

My fingers are reaching for the knife at my belt – I don't know what I want.

The dark haired boy shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on Harrow's body. "It wasn't-"

Another arrow sails through the air over our heads and lodges itself in the ground. The other boy, the blond haired one, takes one look at the quivering arrow and turns and sprints away into the trees.

"Griffin – we need to go," the girls says, her lips pressed tightly together.

"I-" another arrow interrupts him. He looks at me for a brief second, "I'm sorry," he tells me. And then they too are gone, and I'm left alone with his body and the tribute that killed him.

I stagger to my feet, my hand drifts once more to the knife at my belt.

But then I think of Harrow's final words to me. _"Promise me you'll win. This is worth it if you can win."_

My body burns with anger, with the need for revenge. This tribute killed Harrow and wounded Rivka, and he needs to be stopped.

Maybe it would be alright to die in a blaze of glory, in a charge for revenge, even if the only place it's headed is certain death. Maybe dying would be the easier option when the body of one of the only real friends I've ever had is lying on the grass beside.

But maybe I could win. Maybe I could make people remember Rivka and Harrow the way that they should be remembered, rather than just distant memories of tributes of the first Hunger Games.

Maybe I still have fight left in me.

I hear movement behind me and I whirl around, finding myself staring at the boy from 10. He points a knocked arrow straight at my heart.

"You think this is over?" I yell at him, "you think I'm going to forget about this?"

"No," he says, watching me with an almost sad expression on his face. "And I don't think you should."

I watch him in confusion.

"I'll give you five seconds," he tells me, still watching me with that strange expression.

"Five seconds to do what?" I ask, still with my hand wrapped tightly around the handle of my knife.

"To run." Anger flashes in his eyes, and I can see nothing but the arrow protruding from Harrow's chest, hear nothing but the words he said as he died.

"_Promise me you'll win."_

I turn and dash towards the edge of the forest, taking one last look at Harrow's body before I enter the forest.

I don't know how long I run, how loudly I thrash against the branches and bushes, how desperately I sob but all I know is that I'm not ready to stop.

I collapse against a tree when finally I can run no further and just as I sink to the floor two cannons boom out across the arena.

I clamp my eyes shut; how can this be happening? How can any of this be _allowed _to happen?

Suddenly a voice echoes amongst the trees, "I'm afraid that the feast is now over," a chirpy female voice announces. I clench my fists. "I hope you all enjoyed yourselves."

I stiffen at the words – it's as though the people in charge know exactly what to say and do to break us, to destroy the tributes and to make death seem almost a relief.

As I clench my teeth, it occurs to me that the other three tributes hadn't even tried to attack me while I had been comforting Harrow. I must have been an easy target; I probably wouldn't even have noticed. But none of them had even acted as though they wanted to. They had stayed to watch Harrow die. Maybe we've all seen far too much death now.

I think of the announcement and wonder if this angers the Capital. They can try to break us all they want, but yet humanity still remains within us and in some strange way, even though we are supposed to be killing each other and seeing each other as enemies, we are united.

I wrap my arms around my knees and shut my eyes. The forest is too quiet, and it reminds me just how alone I am now. I press my face into my knees to stifle the sobs threatening to erupt within me.

I won't let the Capitol see my cry anymore – I will keep my promise to Harrow, and then I will leave this arena and make sure that this is never allowed to happen again.

* * *

So I'm going to apologise yet again for the lateness of this chapter - hopefully you all saw the message on my profile. But the good news is that I now have a 3 month long summer holiday and 6 chapters left to write, so it shouldn't be long until it's finished :) I have the rest of the story plotted and all I need to do now is write it...!


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